22 Childhood
by Thescarredman
Summary: Anna explores her past with one of her former captors, and Kat finally meets a normal guy - yeah, right.
1. Something in the Way She Moves

Wednesday September 13 2006  
Escondido

As Andrew Grissom wheeled his car into a handicap space at the Playhouse Daycare and Preschool, he told himself that he wasn't worried, not really. _I've been shot at, blown up, and damn near stoned to death, _he thought. _I've fallen out of airplanes and driven vehicles through burning buildings. Working for the government, I've seen and done stuff nobody but the black-helicopter crowd would believe. Hell, I've flown black helicopters. Surely, I can manage half ownership of a four-year-old._ He hung his wheelchair tag on the rear view and went inside, looking for his grandson. The receptionist was sitting in a glass-fronted office just inside the door; without getting up, she directed him down a long hall to a door at the rear of the building. "He's on the playground right now. Just make sure you see Annie as soon as you get there, okay?"

He heard the racket before he reached the door: children shouting and laughing, calling to one another, a waterfall of sound. As he turned the knob, an adult voice, young and female, cut through the din. "Dale, come here, sweetie, your shoe's untied."

The playground was an area measuring about sixty by eighty, enclosed by a privacy fence and floored with wood chips instead of sand. A couple of good-sized spruces provided unclimbable greenery; the rest of the area was taken up with playground equipment and a riot of running, busy children. In the middle of it all, a young woman was kneeling, bent over in front of a child as she tied his shoelace. "There you go, sport." As the child ran back into the fray, she stood up and glanced his way.

_Pretty little thing, _was his first thought as she smiled at him and approached, brushing at her knees. _Early twenties; blonde hair, pixie short; blue eyes; about five-one, one hundred to one-ten, all American girl._ She was wearing the daycare's version of a uniform: a smock in the business's trademark color, with their logo over the left breast. "Hi, welcome to the zoo. Can I help you?"

He pointed to his grandson. "Just here to watch him play for a bit."

"Can I see a driver's license, please?"

"It's okay. I'm his grandfather."

The friendly smile didn't change, exactly, but something hard appeared behind those grey-blue eyes. Later, he would look back on that moment as the first of several times his radar should have pinged. "It's okay if you're his grandfather. I need to see some ID right now, though." He took only a heartbeat to wonder what this little twig of a girl might do if he refused, then reached for his wallet and held it open to display his license.

She glanced at it and became chummy again. "Sorry bout that, Mister Grissom, but I've never seen you here before; I needed to make sure you're on the approved list."

He couldn't help smiling at her. _Must be the attitude. _"I didn't see you check any list."

She tapped the side of her head. "It's not that long. Eleven kids, twenty-six names; the CTC list is longer."

"CTC?"

"Call the Cops. Mostly exes and their parents." She glanced at the door. "Crystal really should have checked you out before you left the office. That's why it's at the front door, after all."

"Then maybe they should put _you_ in the office." _I bet _anybody _could talk their way past the girl who's there now._

She grinned; a cute pair of dimples made a brief appearance. "Not what I signed up for. I'm strictly a playground supervisor, and contingent besides."

"Hm. You're going to have to add a couple names to your list."

"Oh?"

"His mom and dad's divorce is final next week. It was a little ugly."

She looked grave. "That's a rotten shame. Who has custody?"

"My son, but it was a near thing." _You'd think prolonged absence in service to your country wouldn't be as big a disqualifier as infidelity, but family court seems to have some damn funny ideas. If Adrienne hadn't gone cheap on a lawyer, I might be on the CTC list by now._

"The office is going to need a copy of the custody decree, to bar his mom."

"And her boyfriend."

"Ew. Like that, huh? Dan seems like such a nice guy."

"You know him?"

"Well, he talks to me, if Drew's on the playground when he comes for him. Half these kids' parents couldn't tell you my name – or anybody's here. Can you imagine? The people who watch their kid eight or ten hours a day. Scary." She glanced behind him. "That bench back there is more comfy than it looks, if you want to take a seat and watch him. By the way," she said,leading the way as if he might get lost on the four-yard journey, "it's sweet that they named him after his grandfather."

He was beginning to feel annoyed. He was flattered, at first, by so much attention from a pretty young girl, but her solicitousness was starting to make him feel like an old cripple. "I think the college trust I set up for him might have had something to do with it; I'm pretty sure _her_ dad's name was their original choice." He stood by the bench, not sitting, although she was plainly waiting for him to do so. "You know, you really don't need to hover like this. Shouldn't you be out there, watching the kids?"

"Not really. This place is pretty well designed. I can see the whole playground from anywhere, and I can actually keep track of the kids better if I'm not in the middle of them. Besides, company policy says I have to stick close to you while you're on the playground."

"Oh." _So maybe she's not babysitting me, after all. _"I thought I checked out okay."

"It's not about the kids, it's liability."

"Come again?"

"If a kid comes in from the playground with a skinned knee, it's not a big deal, just kid stuff. But if an adult trips and falls down, they hire a lawyer." She glanced back at the play area. "Really, you should have had an escort from the front door, but Crystal's not supposed to leave the office empty, and staffing at this place is always bare minimum."

"I see. So, if I park my butt on this bench, you don't have to divide your attention, right?" He sat, feeling like a stubborn old fool. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to make your job harder. I'll stay out of your way."

"As if." She turned and sat down beside him, with less than a foot between. "These guys are no trouble, not any more. The first week was kind of hairy, while we felt each other out; now they know what I'm about, what they can count on me to do and what I'll allow or won't. Only three or four of them need a close eye." She spoke casually, but he noticed that she scanned the playground with eyes that were seldom still, like a sentry expecting an attack at any moment. He also couldn't help noticing the foot and a half of bench on the other side of her; she was sitting a _lot _closer than she had to. "Look. Under the slide. See her?"

He looked. In the shadow under the bottom of the slide, two eyes peeped out, surrounded by a cloud of coal-black hair.

"That's Bethie: she's my hider. She's waiting for me to notice her." She called out, in a voice not much louder than her speaking voice, but pitched high to carry, "Bethie! You come out of there and dust off, or I'm gonna scrub you with a _floor _brush!" To him, she said, "She comes with a change of clothes, fortunately; her mom doesn't mind her getting dirty, as long as she can come home clean. See the boy by the platform, a head taller than the others?"

The kid was running around the outside of the three-foot-high structure, growling like a bear and reaching towards the littler ones on the raised surface, pretending to be trying to catch them; they shrieked with excitement and ran from one side to the other, all of them having a ball. "That's Malcolm: he's my bully. Not really, but he has some weird notions of social interaction. When I came here, the only game he played was Cat and Mouse, chasing all the other kids from one side of the playground to the other and pushing them down, and attendance was down by half on days he was here, because parents wouldn't leave their kids when they saw him. He's going to be okay, the other kids are coming around him some, but I can't let him get away with _anything_, or he'll be all alone again_._" She turned to him. "And then there's Drew, the most precocious child I've ever talked to. He's a little adventurer who's always a misstep away from hurting himself somehow; the kid has absolutely _no _fear. Just like his dad, I'm betting. Special Forces, isn't he?"

"Marine. Force Recon."

"Force Recon. Those are the guys who find out just how bad it's going to be for the rest of the troops, by going in first and seeing how many people shoot at them?"

He chuckled. "Too close to the truth. He's getting out at the end of the month, thank God." _And already dropping hints about a 'job interview,' very big money, can't discuss it, even with the old man. IO keeps an eye on our family members for potential recruits; it streamlines the background checks and reduces security risks. Like the goddamn Mafia. Of course, since they must want him for his combat skills, he'll be on a team, headed right back into the meat grinder, only on a general's pay._

He felt her fingers lace into his. "Hey. It's a sunshiny day. The air is filled with children's laughter. There _has _to be a law against looking so grim." She looked down at their joined hands. "Um, my family tells me I'm 'touchy-feely.' I seem to have _no _sense of personal space. I know it makes a lot of people uncomfortable, and we just met, but it reassures the kids, when they see a stranger on the playground. Are you okay with this, Mister Grissom?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, I could _get _comfortable with it … but you'd have to start calling me Andy. If you do this with boys your own age, I bet it leads to some misunderstandings."

She squeezed his fingers. "Oh, yeah, my age, and about twenty years beyond. One of my girlfriends calls me 'Handsy Anne'. It's a liability sometimes, but when I'm hitting it off with someone, I just feel compelled to touch them, to make them real. Am I making any sense?" She disengaged her fingers and stood up. "Or maybe I just have a thing for older men. Scuse."

He watched her walk directly to a corner of the play area where two boys were facing off. To Andy, it looked no different from half a dozen altercations he'd seen since he'd been sitting there, disputes that had vanished as fast as they appeared. Just as she reached them, one of the kids lifted his arms, as if to deliver a push; the motion stopped as soon as the boy saw Annie a step away._ She saw the trouble coming before it started; she's got these kids pegged._ She knelt between them, bringing all their heads to the same level. Her back was turned to him, but he could see the boys' faces clearly. She let them do most of the talking for about a minute, then delivered some statement or judgment that sent them off together, pals again. She surveyed her modest domain briefly, and then returned to her spot on the bench.

"Annie, have you got a boyfriend?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "I've got a husband. And kids."

He looked at her hand. "No ring."

"I'm not much into jewelry, and that tradition always struck me as silly. I get uncomfortable when I see women mooning over somebody's new engagement ring, like they only said 'yes' for the rock on their finger. I wouldn't want that thought crossing _my _man's mind."

_I'll bet Dan's _still_ making payments on the one Adrienne picked out. I wonder what she'll do with it. _"I doubt it ever would. And if it did, he'd probably think it was worth it."

She turned her head and gave him a very direct look. "Should I have said, 'forty years beyond'?"

He chuckled. "Actually, I was sounding out my chances of adopting you, or fixing you up with my son."

"Andy, he's not even divorced yet. You think he's ready?"

"The marriage was ashes a year ago. For appearances' sake, she stayed until he came back from overseas, then moved out and filed – divorce and custody of Drew."

"Welcome home, soldier." Her gaze turned back to the playground.

"Yeah." He shifted on the seat. "No, little girl, I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in some decrepit old fart old enough to be your father."

"Humph. According to your driver's license, you're four years older than my husband."

He felt his ears redden. "He's _sixty_?"

"Next birthday. How's that foot taste?"

"He's rich, I suppose."

"If he weren't, I'd have to get a _real _job." She turned his way with a smile that vanished instantly when she looked at him. "I wonder if I'm ever going to get through three days in a row without seeing that look."

"Look?" But he knew what she was talking about.

"The look a man gives a woman when he thinks he's discovered her price."

He flushed again, even more deeply. "I didn't mean… I wasn't thinking…"

She let out a breath. "I don't get angry about it any more, it's pointless. But I see it on people's faces every time we're out together. Any woman married to a man twice her age – and they _are_ loaded, usually – she's a whore, and the man she's married to is… either being led around by his penis or an egotistical fool trying to reaffirm his masculinity. It's so _stupid_. Andy, listen to me: I didn't marry Jack because he's rich; he made himself rich by being the kind of man I wanted to marry. Do you understand the difference?"

_I understand why she won't wear a rock on her finger. _"Annie, I believe you, but I _don't _understand."

"I suppose I look like a kid to you, but women my age are old enough to have been dating a third of our lives, and if we're still looking for a man, we've been through the wars. We've had our share of losers and cheaters and men…whose self-destruct timers are armed and ticking. And we've had our fill of overgrown boys who think of a woman as another toy, or worse, another mommy to take care of them. If you know one of us who'll tell you the truth, she'll tell you that washboard abs and girl-pretty looks are mighty fine, but what she _really _wants is a man who's a self-starter, with ambition and self-discipline and a sense of self-worth; a man who values his word, values friendship, values love. Andy, men aren't born with those qualities; they develop them. It takes time, and a lot of them just don't have it yet when they reach my age. Whenever I hear some woman moan about how all the good ones are taken, I just want to _shake_ her and say, 'No, they're _not_! But you've _got _to stop excluding older guys from your dating pool!'"

She stopped, apparently to catch her breath. "Sorry. I know how wound up I get about this. A hundred years ago, May-October marriages were common as wildflowers; I don't know how they got turned into something perverse. Jack carries decades of struggle and triumph and defeat on his face, and no amount of makeup would make him look like a girl. But he's the finest man, of any age, that I've ever known, and I'm very lucky to have him. He doesn't like dating younger women, go figure, but he'd had a long dry spell when I met him, and he took a chance." She showed her dimples again. "And we hit it off right away. I fell in love. What else is there to say? Oh, I got a great deal on him, too: he came with five kids, no extra charge."

"Good God." He shook his head.

"Not _quite _a crazy as it sounds: they're housebroken, got their papers, shots up to date and everything." She seemed to glow as she said it. "Actually, only one of them is Jack's. The others are wards, kids he took in. See what I mean about him? Ages spread from seventeen to twenty-one. It's not like I'm changing diapers, or spooning mush into their mouths, or dressing and bathing them. Sometimes one of them will even load the dishwasher." She looked out on the playground. "I have to come here for my regular dose of nose-wiping and of toddler talk." She clapped her hands and every child looked her way. "Time! Wrap it up, you guys!" She turned to him. "Time for my next bunch. I guarantee Drew will be the last one inside."

He stood. "It's been really nice meeting you. If I come back tomorrow, will you be here?"

"Normally, I couldn't say, being contingent, but I know somebody quit today. I'll be here all week, likely." She offered her hand. "Tomorrow, then."

He was impressed with her handshake: she had the grip of a man, one twice her size. "At the risk of having you remind me you're married … have we met before?"

She locked eyes. "Trust me, Andy. If I knew you from somewhere else, I'd remember you. Vividly."

Thursday September 14 2006

"Annie, you make it sound like we should pull Drew out of here."

"Oh, no! Griping about staff is just one of my pet peeves about daycare in general."

It was the next day. As predicted, Annie had been shepherding her flock in the play area when he arrived, again without escort. The same girl was in the office; she hadn't even glanced up as he walked down the hall past her.

"You could do a _lot _worse than this place, believe me. It's clean and well-designed; it's safe, and if they had enough people to operate according to the written policies, it would be secure as an army base. They don't serve the kids swill for lunch, and they provide real activities for them, instead of plunking them down in front of the TV for six hours a day. It's just that the company seems to be trying to make back its initial outlay straight out of the payroll budget. Aside from me, the administrator, and the nurse, nobody here is making more than minimum wage. It's no wonder turnover is so high. If you work here, and you have a kid of your own in daycare, and you drive to work, you're working for almost nothing.

"And it's not just the economics that make no sense. Taking care of kids is _important. _But the wages they earn tell the people who work here that their jobs are menial and insignificant. Do you know, there are children here with parents who work downtown; they pay more to park their _cars_ than they do to park their kids. Raising children shouldn't be a job you take because you're desperate and you can't find anything better."

"And yet, _you're_ working here." He watched her redo a shirt on a boy who'd mismatched the buttons and holes; his parent, it seemed, had dropped him off without noticing the error.

"I'm a special case; this is more of a hobby for me. I'm learning a _lot _from these little guys. I may talk Jack into adopting, some day."

_Better hurry,_ he thought. Then: _What am I thinking about? I just agreed to help raise a four-year-old. _"Annie, I've got a proposition for you."

She sent the boy off, then cocked an eye at him. _God, she's cute._

"Stop it. It's a _business _proposition."

"Aren't they all? Did I mention today that I'm married, Andy?" Her features settled. "Just teasing. Don't look so nervous. Just lay it out."

"Come to work for me, full-time. Take care of Drew for Dan and me. I'll pay you whatever you think it's worth – name your price."

"At your house, or Dan's, I presume? Take him out of here?"

"Yes. You'd have a class of one, at a wage worth your time. We'll have to negotiate hours, but for the rest, it's your show."

She gave him a stern look. "And what, exactly, will the two of _you_ be doing while I'm raising this child as my own? Looking on in approval, maybe?"

"Annie, neither of us has a _clue _how to raise a kid; we were both gone all the time, and the womenfolk handled it. I watch what you do to keep these kids safe and happy, and my heart just sinks. We need help."

"Hmp. Maybe you do, but not the kind you're offering _me _money for. How long have you two had him?"

"Two weeks Monday."

"Uh huh. And he's coming here clean, dressed, and rested, no marks, not diving into his oatmeal like he missed dinner. So, what is it you think you're doing wrong?"

He rubbed at the knot at the back of his neck. "I don't know, but I don't think I can afford a single mistake."

"You're not going to avoid mistakes, Andy. It'll be all right. You want some advice?"

"All I can get, from you."

"Flatterer. Don't take him out of daycare; he's got a lot of friends here, and he's learning some useful life skills. Didn't you notice that he's one of the ringleaders around here? When he gets to kindergarten, he'll adjust much better for it. Also, you ought to be _enjoying_ him; playing with kids is a great stress reducer. Do you play at home?"

He grinned. "Some, but I'm a little awkward. Drew has to teach me _everything_."

"That'll pass. You're doing all right. Just give him the love and attention he needs, and space when he needs that, and not having his mommy around isn't going to cripple him. That's what you're worried about, isn't it?"

"Only, say, every five minutes."

"Wuss." She punched his shoulder, and then rubbed her knuckles. "Ow. I thought decrepit old farts were poofy and squishy. That was like hitting a bag of cement. You're ex-Army too, aren't you?"

"About twenty years 'ex'. Been doing security work since then."

She gave him an odd look; it would be another time to ask himself, in retrospect, why alarm bells didn't ring. "Dan talked with me a little yesterday, when he came for Drew. I mentioned that I met you, and he warmed right up; he thinks the world of you. Before I knew it, he was talking about this new job he had a line on, and the big money he'd been offered. But when I asked him what he was going to be doing, he got evasive, gave me some line about 'security work'. A while back, I was reading this book about the CIA in the sixties and seventies. Did you know they used to have their own armed forces? Recruited them from retired and discharged veterans, or got them pulled from their units for 'detached duty'."

"Is that so?" _Keep your voice casual. Don't look her in the eye._

"Yep. At first it was just scratch teams put together for special jobs, like making sure the right Asian warlord got on top in a certain area. After a while, though, the dirty-tricks missions were coming so thick and fast, the teams stopped disbanding; they stayed on the payroll and became specialists in ops that never see the light of day."

"That's all very interesting, I suppose, but what's it got to do with Dan?"

"Because I think he's still following in his father's footsteps."

"Hon, I never worked for the CIA, and I don't think Dan will, either. The Agency quit doing that stuff about the time Bush took over as Director. I was still in the Service then."

"I won't press, Andy, but I'm not buying it. Both of you, be careful … and come back to Drew and me."

_Drew … and me. I've known this girl for two days. She's half my age, and married. _"I'm retired, remember? And Dan's getting out in a couple weeks. Reporting in is about his only duty now."

"Uh huh." She looked out over the playground. "I'm not convinced."

_Change the subject. _"You know, I still can't shake the idea that I've seen you before. Did I know your mom, maybe?"

"My mom." She was still looking out at the kids, but now he felt she was avoiding _his_ eyes. "Don't think so. People tell me I look just like her, in the face. But she's six inches taller, brown-brown instead of blonde-blue – and if you talked to her for five minutes, you'd say we don't resemble each other in the _slightest_."

"You don't get along, I take it."

"Oh, you are so _very _right. The woman wants to run my life, cradle to grave; what I want means _nothing _to her. She doesn't take no for an answer. The only way to deal with her is to avoid her entirely, and I mean _entirely_. She doesn't have my address or phone number. I know a couple of people who tell me how she's doing, what she's up to. That's all the contact I need or want."

"That's harsh, Annie. I wouldn't expect you to have an attitude like that about anybody."

"She doesn't give me any choice, Andy; if she could locate me, she'd just _swoop _down to take my life away from me, starting with Jack and the kids. I'm not about to let that happen."

"What about your dad? How does he figure in?"

"My relationship with my dad is … complex. Have you guessed that I'm an Army brat?"

"You did appear schooled in some things military." _For someone who'd never pass the physical, especially._

"Dad is like one of those guys on Mount Rushmore: stern and aloof and larger than life. He even _looks_ like Teddy Roosevelt, only without the glasses. We never talked, when I was young. But whenever he was around, he always kept an eye on me." She smiled at a memory. "Beautiful eyes, sort of a deep gray-green. I loved looking into them, even when he was staring me down like he was ready to shoot me. He was very strict; he didn't give me a chance to pull _anything, _not that I would have. But I understood: it was Mom calling the shots and making the rules, and he was enforcing them."

"I used to do the same thing with Dan and Jessie, when I was home. When you're only there a tenth of the time, it's not right to make rules that everybody else has to live with, the other ninety percent when you're gone."

"Uh huh. Well, he and Mom are separated now. Just lately, we've been talking some. I'm getting to know him, finally; it's nice." She smiled out at the playground. "Andy, what would you say-"

She was gone. A wood chip lay in his lap, and a puff of dust was still rising by the bench, but she was all the way across the playground, and Drew was tumbling off the monkey bars into her arms.

A hammerblow of memory struck him. Of _course _he'd seen those gray-blue eyes before, hundreds of times, returning their cool appraisal over the barrel of his rifle with sweat trickling down his temple.

It _had_ to be. _Nothing _human could move so fast. And _it _had his grandson.

Drew shrieked.

He had half risen from his seat when she turned towards him, his grandson in one arm. Drew shrieked again, breathless with laughter, and threw an arm around her as she rubbed her knuckles across his head. "You _scamp_. You did that on _purpose_. What am I gonna do with you?" Three children looked their way and laughed, as if they'd seen the same thing a hundred times.

He sat back down, heavily, his gimp heart pounding alarmingly. _Jesus God, what was I thinking? My grandson's playground director, a berserker assassin robot. Do they have a name for this kind of stress disorder? Ten minutes ago, I was working up the nerve to ask her out for a cup of coffee. Ten seconds ago, I would have opened fire on her with a rocket launcher. Come back to reality, Grissom. She's just fast and alert, that's all; I wasn't paying attention, probably senility creeping in. And she thinks I can give this kid a stable environment._

With Drew still in her arms, she was standing four steps away, searching his face. _God knows what she must see. I wonder if I'm going to start seeing that thing everywhere I go, until they finally lock me up. Adrienne will be calling her lawyer before the doors slam shut._

She finally spoke – to the boy, not him. "I thought you knew not to do that in front of grownups."

"That's not a grownup, it's Grampa." The boy grinned at him. "She's fast."

Her expression was grave. "The first time was an accident. But now that he knows I can reach him in time from anywhere in the playground, it's a game, trying to catch me by surprise. Guess the cat's out of the bag, isn't it, Sergeant?"

Again, his vision shrank to a tunnel, with her at the other end. He could feel invisible hands squeezing his throat.

Her eyes widened in alarm and she spun away, turning her back to him, clutching Drew tightly to her. "Andy! Are you reaching for your piece, or your pills?"

He looked down at his right hand, which was pressed against his chest near the opening in his jacket. _She thought I was armed. She turned her back, to put herself between Drew and a loaded gun. _"I dunno. Not a weapon; I think I was trying to clutch my heart."

"Great. You scared me to death two different ways at the same time."

"Eh?"

"I didn't know if you were going to have a heart attack, or open fire on me in a playground full of kids."

"I wouldn't try to use a gun on you. I know what you can do." _Those pictures of her covered in blood, standing in a field of bodies …_

She set Drew down and sent him off. Then, she turned, walked up, and stood before him, hands clasped in front of her, looking ten years old. "Andy, are you okay? I mean, are _we_ still okay?"

"I don't know. Maybe. What happened to you?" _In the lab, I never spoke to her. Not once in a year and a half. But my aim never left her face._

"The story of Pinocchio: I found someone to love me, I tried _really _hard to be good, and eventually … I became a real girl."

She sat down in her usual place beside him. _Now that I know, having her within arm's length of me, I should jump like a cat whose tail's been stepped on; I was terrified of her every time she looked my way._ His heart was still hammering in his chest; it reminded him that she'd known about the pills.

"Andy, do you want me to move? Your heart is running like a sewing machine."

"Can you get me a glass of water? I think it's time for one of these damn pills."

She stood and took a single step towards the door before she turned to face him. "Are you going to be here when I get back?"

"Unless I croak first, kid." He gave her a weak smile.

He barely had time to shake one of the tablets out of the bottle and dry-swallow it before she was back, with a small plastic cup marred by little teeth. He drained it at one go. "How did you know?"

"I can hear your heartbeat when I'm close enough; a heart that's been damaged sounds different. Then I noticed the outline of the prescription bottle in your jacket. When did it happen?"

"Three years ago, about. They retired me before I was out of the hospital. If I'd known retirement was this easy to adjust to, I'd have had one years ago." He passed the cup back. Instead of taking it from his hand, she closed her fingers over his. He started, but didn't try to pull away; not just because he knew he couldn't, if she wanted to hold him, but because he felt disinclined to try. She held his eyes with her own.

"Does it feel different, Andy? Now that you know, under the skin, it's titanium and boron fiber, or whatever?"

"'Or whatever?' Don't _you _know?"

"Not a clue. They didn't give me a set of blueprints, you know."

He didn't understand why, but that uncertainty made him feel better about her. "How did you get away?"

"I didn't exactly have to shoot my way out. When I decided to leave, I pretty much just walked away. That was over two years ago, and I don't know if anybody ever noticed." She set the cup on the ground and sat beside him again. When she reached for his hand, he let her twine her fingers in his.

Without looking at her, he said, "So, you made it all up? About having a family?"

"No, every word is true."

"And they know about you?"

"It's not something you can hide from somebody you're living with. Jack knew before I moved in with him. They all accepted me, each in their own way. They're a wonderful bunch. Bobby calls me 'Mom'."

"Hm. The sixty year old husband makes a little more sense now."

"Beg pardon?"

"Well, you know. To make the charade work, you'd want to look for someone who's … prepared to forego … having relations."

"'Charade.' Oh, _jeez_, Andy, is there room for _two_ feet in that mouth?"

"Uh? You mean …"

"I _mean_ that, outside of the kids' rooms, I don't think there's a horizontal surface in that _house_ we haven't done it on. Jack is _not _a man to _forego _his … husbandly duties to his wife, especially when his wife is _so _enthusiastic." Her eyelids drooped until she was looking at him through her long lashes. "He claims I'm his first virgin. If that's true, he's got a natural talent for starting a girl off right. Oh, good. I'm glad you've got the decency to blush."

"Good God, how did we get started _into_ this conversation?"

"I think it started when you hinted how lucky I was to find a man who didn't need a _real_ wife."

"Um. Sorry, didn't know."

"Lots of things about me that you guys never troubled yourselves to learn. It seems to me that Dr. Seabrook and his people didn't learn anything about me that the original design team couldn't have told them."

He said carefully, "And exactly _what _design team would that have been?"

"Are you being cagey?" She gestured at herself with her free hand. "Nobody built _this_ in a basement workshop. There must have been a design team, a good one. The project must have had deep pockets, too."

"No doubt. But, as of the time I left IO, nobody knew who they were, or who built you."

"What are you talking about? _IO_ built me."

"Annie, IO didn't know a _thing _about you when we acquired you; if we had, we wouldn't have been studying you like some alien artifact, would we?" He paused, looking at his grandson, remembering how she had turned to protect him. "You sound like you don't remember your own beginnings, is that right?"

"I have some scattered bits of memory, from before I came to the lab. Aside from that, my life started as Dr. Seabrook's lab rat … and yours is the very first face I remember."

_And my first sight of you was in the envelope that came with the steel box you arrived in; once through those pictures and the only way I looked at you in person was over the barrel of my rifle. I had you in my sights from the moment you got off the table like Frankenstein's Monster._ "So, none of your memories includes mass murder? I have pictures of you surrounded by bodies. Grinning up at the camera with blood on your teeth." It came out a lot harsher than he'd intended. He didn't know what sort of reaction to expect: blank incomprehension, hot denial, killing rage all seemed possible. _But I've got to know._

She looked down into her lap. In a tiny voice, she said, "Is it true, then?"

"What? You're asking me?"

"I said I don't remember much, from before … But I had a dream one night…"

"A dream? You _sleep_ now?"

"Not nearly as much as you, but yes. I had this nightmare. I was locked in a room full of people; they were armed, everything from assault rifles to table legs, and they were all coming after _me._" She made a little sound, something like a moan. "I was wading into them, killing them with my bare hands. They were shooting each other, trying to hit me, and I was smashing them to pieces, and blood, just everywhere-" He saw _tears _running down her cheeks. "I came out of bed swinging and screaming. Thank _God_ Jack was up already. And then Caitlin rushed in, and she knew how dangerous it was, what I could do, but she didn't even hesitate, just threw her arms around me-" She fell silent as her chin dropped to her chest. "I don't deserve the luck I've had, finding those kids, and Jack. They're worth my life."

"Annie?" It was Bethie, looking from Annie to him with huge eyes. "You cryin?"

"It's okay, sweetie, they're happy tears." She lifted their joined hands. "This is Drew's Grampa. He's a _very _nice man."

The kid turned and ran for the playground equipment.

Looking after her, Annie said, "I hope she understands happy tears. This morning, her mom was wearing sunglasses when she brought her in; it looked like she was sporting a shiner on her left eye. Might not mean anything, but if it happens again, or if Bethie comes in marked up … I might have to do something."

_Something. _"Like tell your supervisor?"

"Been there. Seems the potential loss of Bethie's tuition trumps my suspicions."

"Police?" He thought he already knew her answer. "Not enough evidence?"

"One black eye does not an abuse case make; neither does a little girl who's learned to hide when she's surrounded by noise and frenetic activity. Besides, _I_ can't bring charges; even if my ID held up to police scrutiny, I can't appear as a witness."

_A scrappy little thing like this, wimping out?_ "A lot of people feel that way about being on the witness stand, Annie. It'd be all right."

"Andy … I can't get past the metal detector at the courthouse door."

"Oh. Yeah. Guess not." He took a deep breath, and let it out. _Should have known. _"What will you do, then?"

"I'll tell Caitlin, my oldest. She loves kids. She'll kick the crap out of him."

"What about you?"

She shook her head. "I wouldn't dare. I don't trust myself to know when to stop."

"I'm not sure I would, either. Annie, there's something that's really bothering me about this. I stared at you for hours a day for a year and a half; these past two days, I've been a foot away from you, three or four hours altogether. It's been eight years, sure, but still … why the _hell _didn't I recognize you?"

"Well, I've got some ideas on the subject. When _did_ you recognize me?"

"You know very well: when you moved like lightning to catch Drew."

"Uh huh." She turned away. "Andy, what do I look like?"

"What?"

"What do I look like? Describe me."

"Five feet, five-one, short blonde hair, blue eyes, maybe a hundred and five …"

"Stop. A million people match that description; no one could recognize me from that. What about my nose?"

"Well, it's between your eyes and above your mouth."

"Ha ha. Is it straight, or does it bend left or right?"

"Um, straight."

"Sounds like you're guessing already. Is the bridge bent or straight? Is there a bulb at the tip? Are my nostrils the same size?"

"Why wouldn't your _nostrils_ be the same size?"

"A lot of people's aren't, you know. How about mine?"

"Annie, they built you perfect."

"They wanted me to look as human as possible; people have imperfections. Perfect bilateral symmetry is rare: your two front teeth aren't _exactly _the same; your eyes and ears aren't level. You've worn a wedding ring; did it fit the third fingers of both hands the same?"

"Okay, okay. I don't remember your nostrils. Guess you can lose a lot of detail after eight years."

"Turn around."

"Why?"

"Testing your theory."

He turned away from her, and she let go of his hand.

"Okay. You were looking at the back of my head five seconds ago. Did my hair cover the tops of my ears?"

_I wasn't looking at your hair; I was wracking my brain trying to visualize your freaking nostrils, for god's sake. _"Aaaargh! Fine. I don't have a clue what you look like, okay? Get me my white cane and glasses." He turned back. "So why am I sure I could find you in an airport full of people?"

She tapped his forehead gently. "Nifty computer you've got there. Four terabytes of storage, they _think_, and nobody's sure how fast it works. But the sensor suite's made to handle analog input, not digital; it works best making comparisons and processing changes of state, not mathematical manipulations of raw data. The human eye is drawn to movement, I suppose you know?"

_Sure; if a flare goes off overhead, you're usually a lot safer if you freeze than if you dive for cover._ "Uh huh."

"Your sense of smell and hearing work that way, too: an odor or a constant sound will fade into the background after a while, and you have to think about it to bring them back to your attention."

"I've had occasion to be grateful for that."

"I bet." She touched the backside of the bench. "Can you touch this, and tell if it's smooth or rough?"

He felt it carefully. "Got some rough edges, nothing big."

"Andy, why couldn't you just touch it to tell?"

"I did."

"No, you didn't. You ran your hand along it, and felt the ragged part scrape along your fingers. You made the rough part feel different by introducing motion."

"Okay, I see what you're getting at. But this answers my earlier question how?"

"People don't usually recognize one another by memorizing maps of their faces. How often does a police sketch really look like the suspect? And the artist is somebody trained to pull details out of a witness's memory. And crazy as it sounds, pretty faces are harder to remember than ones that aren't."

"Come again?"

"Analog computer, remember? Some time when you first laid eyes on me, you compared me to an ideal or composite template in your mind. You looked at my nose and decided it wasn't too big or too small, too straight or too crooked, and in proportion to the rest of my face. You did the same thing with all my other features: lips, eyes, chin, cheeks. You examined me for unusual asymmetry. When you decided I had no unusual characteristics to fix me in your memory, you classified me as 'pretty' or even 'beautiful'. But really, I just failed to be memorably ugly."

"So… how'd I recognize you?"

"What _usually _makes a person familiar to you is subtle: their walk, their body language, the way they turn their heads or smile, lots of stuff. I'm talking about the things that give a person's face and body _life_." She stood up. "I vaguely resembled someone you used to know, until I _did _something you recognized instantly. There's more to it than that, but…" She clapped her hands "Time to go in, guys!" Without looking at him, she asked, "Well, Andy, have you decided?"

"Decided what?"

"Whether you're going to drop a dime on me, and tell IO you've found their runaway robot. Are you going to help 'Mom' swoop down and steal my life away?"

He tried to bring them to his mind's eye, those horrible pictures that had wrecked his sleep so many nights; he tried to imagine that creature loosed on the world. But he kept seeing her with her back turned to danger, Drew clutched in her arms, shielding him. "No. No way in hell."

"Thanks. You're giving me a lot of trust, considering."

"So are you. What would you have done if I'd said anything else?"

"Run. Again. Grab the kids and an armload of clothes and burn rubber; let Jack find us later."

"You could silence the informant."

"As if." She bent slightly and kissed his forehead. "This is my last bunch today. How 'bout we go get some coffee?"

*

The coffee at Legal Grounds wasn't bad, the décor was down-to-earth, and there was no canned music. He sat in a booth and watched her sitting across from him, a glass of ice water held between her hands. She pursed her lips around the straw, taking it into her mouth a little further than necessary. She pulled up just enough water to wet her lips and let it go as she puckered briefly, making her lips glisten with moisture, never taking her eyes off him.

"What are you _doing_?" _When I was eighteen, seeing a girl do that would've made it impossible to get up from the table; now, it just makes me uneasy._

She blinked, and slid the glass aside. "Sorry. I don't mean to act like I'm coming on to you, really. But my human-analog program is automatic to the point of reflex now. It recognizes you as a virile male that I want to impress, and sends these suggestions to my motion controller. I can override, but it takes a conscious effort. Strange," she continued, pretending not to see him flush, "I used to be aware of every notion in my head, and trace it back to source code; now, sometimes, I can't even _describe _what I'm thinking."

"Well, welcome to the human race."

She dimpled. "Thanks. Means a lot, coming from you. I just hope I never run into Dr. Seabrook; I don't think the meeting would be nearly as pleasant."

"I doubt you could get him to recognize you if you tried."

She nodded. "Yeah. As much time as he spent examining me, he never really _looked _at me; not like you." She grinned and put a hand to her lips. "Do you remember, when he had me tip back my head and open my jaws as wide as they'd go, and he put his face an _inch _from my mouth-"

"Reminded me of a lion tamer."

"_Yes!_ I could have bitten his nose; I swear it was between my teeth for a second, when he was twisting his head around." She continued, in a fair imitation of Seabrook's voice, "'Hm. Careless. Should have put in a few fillings for realism; these are too perfect. Alistair, make a note.'"

He chuckled. "Speaking of being too perfect, I suppose you know your left and right sides are exactly the same."

"Yeah. Design flaw, I guess, or maybe after all the work the sculptors put into me, they couldn't bring themselves to spoil it."

"From where I'm sitting, it doesn't look like a flaw." It just slipped out. _I'm acting like a kid on a date. Next, I'll be asking for her number._ "All right, you're not doing anything obvious any more, so why is this happening?"

"'This'?" But she knew, he was certain.

"Annie, you're pretty, God knows, but it's been a _long_ time since I was smitten by a girl I just met. I'm being manipulated somehow."

"Oh dear." She drummed her fingertips on the table; her short nails chittered softly on the Formica. "I,m sure you're right; the body language and such is more subtle now, but it's still there. Sorry. I'll try to turn down the charm. But I _really_ want you to like me, and I can read _your_ body language like you're waving semaphores, not to mention all the chemical signals you put out. I'm just responding to... and that intensifies _your_ response, so I … Oh, here we go again."

"Been in this fix before, have you?"

"It's how I ended up married."

He laughed until he was daubing his eyes with his napkin. "Uhuh. Huh. Ah, hell."

"Oh, yeah. This nice-girl thing I've got going on is pure self-defense. If anything ever happened to Jack, I'd be a champion slut, I'm sure." She looked at him sharply. "You were going to say something?"

"Nothing intelligent." _Was I really just about to call her a nympho?_ _I keep saying the first thing that pops into my head, and I'm going to end up looking like a total jackass._ Trouble was, he couldn't think of anything _else _to say. The silence lengthened, but she seemed comfortable with it, so he relaxed a bit. Presently, she took a dainty sip of her drink, and, not looking at him, said, "I'm glad I met you again, Andy. I missed you."

Shocked, he replied, "How is that _remotely _possible?" _Weapon constantly trained on her, even if he had to walk backwards, bumping into tables…_

"I suppose you're thinking of the gun. Or maybe the fact that we saw each other almost every day for over a year and never exchanged a word?" Another sip. "I never felt threatened by you, Andy; I didn't understand what you were doing, or why. I would have liked to ask you about it, but I was under orders to speak only when instructed to, or in answer to a direct question." She met his eyes. "To Dr. Seabrook, I was never anything but a case file, a specimen, a data set. He talked to me like he was instructing a computer. _You _didn't do that, at least; you were aware of me all the time. You looked me in the eyes."

She looked down into her glass. "You know, they never told me why you were there. I spent a lot of my time wondering about you: what you were thinking, what you were doing with that thing in your hands-"

"Sort of an EMP taser; a shot to the head was supposed to turn you into a pocket calculator."

"I kind of figured that out later. Ever try it?"

"On what? There was only one way to know if it worked."

"No wonder your heart went bad. Andy, what happened to Randall?"

"What _happened_ to him? You kicked him in the balls so hard, he landed eight feet away."

"I remember. Did he die?"

"No. You put him in a wheelchair; I don't know if he ever got out of it."

"Oh. Andy … why didn't you shoot me then? I've often wondered."

"I've scratched my head over that more than once. Partly, I guess it was so sudden, and it was over so fast. I mean, you never gave a bit of trouble; you were docile as a pet rock. Some of the stuff you let them do to you … You never showed a trace of … the malevolence in those pictures. After almost a year, I got sloppy. And at first, I couldn't believe you'd done it; I never saw you move. One second, that asshole has your vest unzipped and he's tweaking your nipple through your shirt, grinning at me; I wanted to shoot the fucker myself."

"Andy!" she covered her grin with one hand.

"A second later, it looks like he decided to do a backflip to the floor. Then you say to Alistair, 'Was that good?' What _was _that about?"

"You remember how Randall used to play with my butt all the time, when Dr. Seabrook wasn't around?"

"Yeah. Though I don't know if Seabrook would have cared. He was an odd bird."

"Well, you may remember a half hour before, when he did it and Alistair said, 'A real girl would kick you in the balls for something like that'."

"Oh … my … God."

"He _did_ make me promise to be a good girl. Every day."

He shook his head. "It changed things for me. It was bad enough knowing the damn gun might not be loaded; after I saw how fast you could move … I didn't expect any warning. I figured, someday when those eggheads were rapping your skull with a hammer, or whatever … some relay would trip, and you could be on me before I pulled the trigger. For damn sure I couldn't protect the others. It was like watching kids playing with a live bomb."

She reached for his hand and twined fingers. "Sorry. They should have let me talk, Andy. I was made to interact with people. A year – heck, a _month_ of free conversation would have made me like I am now, I'm sure."

"Uh huh. And who could've ordered you into a vat of boiling water then? Lots easier to think of you as a machine, the other way." He looked down at their twined hands. "I'm sorry about all that. I never dreamed you could be like this. I think about the way you looked when we shut you in that warehouse with no water …"

"Hey. All better now." She squeezed his hand.

The waitress, plump and middle-aged, came to the table with a glass pot of coffee. "Warm-up?" She refilled his cup. "How bout you, sweetie? Want some ice in that, a lemon slice?"

She pulled her hand back. "No, thanks. Got everything I want right here."

The woman nodded down towards the table. "Don't let go of him on my account. You two got nothing to be embarrassed about. It's too bad you don't see it more often, a dad taking his daughter out for a date."

He was shocked speechless, but Annie looked up at her and smiled. "How did you know? There can't be a resemblance, I'm adopted."

The woman smiled and shook her head. "It's the way you look at him. You've got 'Daddy's Girl' written all over you. Not the spoiled kind," she amended. "Not the kind who wraps the old man around her finger and uses him. Or the kind who can't make a decision without asking Daddy, either, or I miss my guess. You're a girl who won't waste her time on a man doesn't measure up to her father."

"God, she's right. You and Jack would _so_ get along."

The woman nodded. "Wish _my_ girls were like that. I got a good husband, but he and my oldest were like two cats in a sack from puberty till she moved out. The youngest won't say boo to him, but you can tell she's just waiting till she's old enough to jump ship."

"Well, we didn't get along either, for the longest time." She turned to him. "You were always so _strict_. You never let me get away with _anything_."

A light bulb went off in his head. He reached for her hand. "You looked like trouble on its way to happen. Once would have been the last time."

"I turned out okay, though."

"I should say so."

The woman beamed at them and left. Annie said, "You really do look like Teddy Roosevelt. And I love your eyes."

*

"Can I give you a lift back to your car?" They were standing outside Legal Grounds; business and traffic were both starting to pick up as commuters started home.

"No, thanks. I'll take the bus. I can catch it from right here."

"I could take you home."

"No." She turned to him. "I trust you with my life, Andy, truly. But I can't extend that trust on behalf of my family; it's not just my secret to share."

"I don't get it. You're the one IO's hunting."

"I haven't told you everything, not even close. Suffice to say that we're _all_ running from IO, even Jack. I'd risk my security, but I _can't _risk theirs."

His mouth twisted. "Not even for your 'dad'? What was _that_ about?"

"It's my default story, the one I tell whenever it can be made to fit. You may have noticed that I like to talk to people."

"Like a Chatty Cathy doll. You'll probably know everyone on the bus before you get off."

"I sometimes do. What's a Chatty Cathy doll?"

"Before your time, I think. A sort of Barbie doll with a string in back. Pull it, and it repeats a few recorded phrases."

"I think you just made my point for me. You can only talk so long without telling people about yourself. Making up stuff about the recent past is easy enough, but talking about my childhood is awkward. Someone my apparent age might mention a memory we ought to share: a popular kiddy show, a story, some toy or fashion fad that I ought to remember. So, to cover my lapses, I invented a childhood that was sheltered and repressive, complete with a bitch-on-wheels mom and a dad who mostly wasn't there. It's not such a stretch, after all: you _were_ my authority figure, and Ivana's become my nemesis." A bus came rolling up. "This is it."

He felt heaviness in his chest that had nothing to do with his need for pills. "I'm not going to see you again, am I?"

She turned to him, eyes wide. "You're not coming to school tomorrow?"

"Well, sure. But I didn't expect _you _to come back."

"Tomorrow's my last day, and then I'm on call again. They tried to hire me, but I told them I could only do contingent. Did you think I was going to ditch you, Andy?"

"It'd be safest."

"I was _safe _in the warehouse. When you live for real, you take chances." She gave him a hug, so quick and sudden he didn't have a chance to return it. The doors opened, and she stepped up. "See you tomorrow, Dad."

Friday September 15 2006

_Will she look different today,_ he wondered, _after what I learned last night? When I confront her with the truth, will the mask slip away, the sunny expression turn into the face of a monster?_

Today, the corridor that ended at the door to the playground seemed longer than a football field; his steps, even on the carpet, echoed loudly against the walls. He pushed open the door, into the clamor of the playground, and she turned towards him with a smile so bright it made his heart ache. _If only it could have been real._

The smile faded, as he knew it would. She stepped towards him. "Andy, you look _terrible_. What's wrong? It's not Dan, is it?"

"No." His voice sounded strange and tight; maybe it was the roaring in his ears. "I have some things … I need to show you. Do you know what this is?" He tried to be casual and unhurried as he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled it out, and pointed it at her.

She glanced at it, and then returned her gaze to his face. Her look wasn't sullen or feigning innocence, but attentive, as if he were in the middle of performing a trick and she was waiting for what came next. "It's a refinement of that gun you used to train on me: hand held, single use power pack, easily concealed. It's called a scrambler, and that pretty much describes what it does. Turn it on me, or any sophisticated electronics, and it starts trashing files and corrupting code; how much damage it does depends on the length of exposure. A short burst will produce something like a stroke: I might have trouble dancing or tying a shoelace, or maybe lose motor control entirely. A little longer, and I'll forget about being me." Her face settled into a blank expression that he remembered. "Keep hosing me until the power pack goes flat, and my boot file's gone; I'll be a hundred-pound mannequin. What do you want from me, Andy?"

"The truth." He felt his mouth twist into something that wasn't a smile. "What happened to 'Dad'?"

"You tell _me_ what happened to him. I won't use that word again. If I said it now, it might sound like pleading."

"You've been lying to me."

"Not since you recognized me, not once."

"You said you trusted me with your life," he said. "Was that true?"

She backed away from him.

"Stop. What are you doing?"

"You let me get too close, Andy; I could have taken it away from you." When she was six steps away, she sat cross-legged on the ground. A few of the kids looked her way, but no one approached her. "Optimum range. I'll never reach you in time now. What sort of 'truth' do you think you've discovered about me?"

Without taking his eyes off her, he reached into his jacket with his other hand and pulled out the gruesome five-by-seven hospital photo; even from fifteen feet away, he knew she could see it clearly. "You recognize him?" He studied her face as if it lay under a microscope. _But is any scrutiny close enough, if all her responses are preprogrammed?_

"It's Hale."

"You _know_ him?"_ She's surprised me twenty times in the last three days; why should now be any different?_

"I know his name; I know he worked for IO on a surveillance team; I know that, most of the damage you see in that picture, I did. Is he okay, then?"

"No. he is most definitely _not_ okay." He felt the picture bending in his fingers. "This isn't some half-remembered dream from your murky past. You did this six months ago, and it was just for starters, if the hints of an old friend of mine are on target. You're still a killer."

"If I killed someone that day, I didn't know it until now."

"You drove a man's jawbone into his brain with your bare fist. Don't _tell_ me you weren't trying to kill him."

"Oh. _That _one. He was half a second away from cutting one of my girls in two with a shotgun, did your old friend tell you that? I _wasn't_ trying to kill him, but I was in a hurry, and I made sure he _stayed_ down. I'd do it again if I had to. Don't tell _me_ you wouldn't do the same for Drew, you trained killer."

"What about the boy?"

"Am I on trial for my life, or are you just satisfying your curiosity before you shoot me? The bench is three steps to your left and one back, Andy. Sit down before you fall down." _She's listening to my heart. What else can she sense about me? I'm not going to be able to bluff her. _He stepped sideways and backed up until he bumped against the bench and sat down carefully. "You'd have to do a lot of explaining, and you'd have to make it damned good. Can you?"

She shrugged. "Depends."

"_Depends_?" He wiggled the scrambler slightly. "What the hell on?"

She never looked at it, only at him. "On you, Andy, on how much benefit of the doubt you're willing to extend me. If you've already made up your mind against me, the most plausible explanation in the world would just be proof of how good a liar I am; if you were begging to be convinced, any yarn would do. My story is the same either way. Whether it's good enough is up to you."

"I'll hear you out, and question anything that sounds fishy. I can't promise anything more. The stakes are too high."

"Okay." She looked straight up, gathering her thoughts or praying, who could tell, and said, "Just to save time, what do you know about the Genesis Project?"

_Aha. The runaway kids, sure, but who's Jack? _"Just what everyone who's not part of it knows. Some big-deal project to find and recruit paranormals, special talents, ESP types. IO created a school to help a bunch of them develop their gifts. But as soon as they learned enough to be dangerous, they hightailed it out of there and disappeared. IO's been looking for them ever since." _And what's this got to do with that mayhem at the shopping mall?_

"Okay. Most of that is self- serving _bullshit_."

"Annie!" A child's voice, mock-shocked and gleeful.

"Oops, bad word, sorry." She continued in a lower voice. "My kids, and maybe a hundred others, are escaped lab rats. Like me, only flesh-and-blood. They're second-generation test subjects that IO hopes to turn into superhuman assassins." She looked at him. "You think _I _don't know how that sounds? Then again, look who you're talking to. Andy, you've done some important things while you were in IO, I don't doubt. But at the end of the day, you're just a grunt, somebody who doesn't get told any more than necessary. What you know about International Operations is less than the tip of the iceberg. Take me," she said, gesturing at herself. "You're _sure_ you don't know how IO acquired me. They just wheeled me into the lab, with a bunch of scary pictures - that they got from _somewhere_ - to keep you on your toes, and set you to running all those goofy tests. Listen to me and believe, Andy: not only did IO build me, they built more than one."

_I thought my throat felt tight before. _"How many?"

"Depending on how you count, five or six. They built one, tested it, refined the design and built two more, rinse and repeat; five in all." She gestured at herself again. "This chassis was number two. But something happened, I don't know what. Maybe it took so much damage on its last mission that it had to be refurbished. All I know for sure is, they pulled the original hard drive – the personality, if you will – that belonged to that bloodthirsty bitch you see in those pictures. Then they installed a clean one – me. They transferred all the files that contained her skills but left out her memories.

"Except the combat skills package contained a lot of her experiences, as a reference I think. I don't think the techs realized how much of her they were putting back into me. How much of the _worst_ of her they were putting back in." She shrugged. "But it only comes out when I'm in a fight, thank God. Anyway, there were five of us, and we usually worked as a team. And I clearly remember getting our mission briefs from men in IO uniform: that little shoulder patch is unmistakable, looks like the Green Lantern insignia. The last mission I remember, we were tasked to take out an Iraqi nuke plant that was making bomb-grade fissionables." Alarm suddenly showed on her face. "Andy! What is it?"

"January fifteenth, nineteen ninety. Every IO team was running an op in Iraq that night. The coalition was less than twenty-four hours from sending up the balloon; the pieces had been in motion for a month. Seventy hours before the first aircraft are scheduled to sortie, IO gets solid intel that Saddam's been playing the IAEA for suckers: he'd got his hands on enough plutonium to build thirteen nukes and mount them on SS-Twenty medium-range ballistic missiles. Even better, he's got a bomb-making reactor out in the desert, surrounded by an antiaircraft defense heavier than Baghdad's." She was studying him intently. "IO had eight teams then. Two each were tasked to the four launch sites. That left nobody to cover the bomb factory … until IO came up with a team nobody'd heard of before. They rode to their insertion point in a C-27 with Teams Five and Six. A buddy of mine on Six told me about it over a few beers once. Quite a few beers, actually.

"He said that when Five and Six boarded in Turkey, these guys were already aboard, lined up on the jump seat in full HALO gear, which was the start of the weirdness, since it wasn't a HALO jump. The helmets, coveralls, gloves, and full-face masks hid their features completely, and all the packs made it impossible to judge their size. They sat on those hard benches in a hundred pounds of gear the whole trip without moving or saying a word, not even to each other." _And there was something about them that made the guys on Five twitchy: they kept looking at them and whispering to each other, more nervous about them than the mission._ "Then, when the plane was over their drop site, boom! They hopped off the seat and stood up all at the same time, like a drill maneuver, and launched themselves out the door in seconds like a stick of bombs, one-two-three-four-five. And that's when it hit him, what it was about the way they were sitting there that wasn't right, that he couldn't put his finger on." He looked at her, a woman-child sitting cross-legged in the dust in her bright little smock. "They had to slide off the bench to stand up. Sitting on the bench, their feet didn't touch the floor. They were all shrimps."

"I suppose I was one of them. But my memory doesn't include the insertion, just the final attack."

"Where you killed a roomful of people with your bare hands."

"Where _she_ killed a roomful of people. She hated human beings, Andy. She didn't like being used by them, and she dreamed of being free and killing whoever got in her way."

"Which of you was at the mall that day, Annie?"

She shook her head, looking down. "Still thinking of me as undefused ordnance, Andy? You wonder if some little thing might set me off and I'll go on a killing spree like the one in the picture, is that it?" She looked up at him. "If it had been her, none of IO's people would have lived through it, believe me. It was me all the way, augmented by her skills and her success-by-any-means attitude. But anybody I shot already had a gun pointed at me; heck, it was one of _their _guns I used. I did what I had to do to get my kids out safe, nothing more."

"And the boy you put through the meat grinder?"

She looked down at her lap. "When I discovered they were in the mall watching us, I had to find out what we were up against, and fast; I interrogated him, quick and dirty. I tried not to do anything to him that couldn't be fixed, but I had to be ruthless; I knew we were trapped with the clock ticking. As it was, we barely got away."

"And why is it so important to keep them out of IO custody? What are you doing with them?"

She looked up then, with a burning fierceness in her eyes that made him grip the scrambler a little tighter. "We're _raising _them, Jack and I, giving them a life as normal as their talents allow. I'd die before I let IO have them again, and so would he."

"To keep them out of an IO-run school?"

"They were in _cages_!" She lowered her voice. "Sorry. I go a little crazy, thinking about it. But what you think you know about the Project is way off, further than what you thought you knew about me. Ever hear anything about an IO group called the Keepers? You have, I can tell. The people who guarded the kids and hunt the escapees, that's what they call themselves … Zookeepers."

"Go on. Tell me about the Project."

"It started almost thirty years ago: a bio-research project to make soldiers that were … hardier and more effective: more acute senses, better reflexes, greater resistance to disease and injury. IO developed some theories and a sheaf of experimental therapies using lab animals. Ten trial generations later, they thought they were ready for human testing.

"They were wrong. The biochemical regime that seemed to work amazingly well on rats and primates produced very different results on subjects with human-level intelligence. The Generation Eleven test subjects went crazy, some worse than others: suicide, catatonia, violent schizophrenia. But they developed … powers."

"Powers."

"Or magic, or 'special talents'. Abilities unexplained and impossible to modern science, okay? Call it whatever you want; Jack calls it 'mojo'. Oh, you've heard something about that too, have you?"

"A word here or there, that's all, like somebody made a slip; same way with any mention of Keepers. It could be anything."

"Andy, you've never told me what team you were on."

"I was-"

"No, don't. Dan is twenty-six, twenty-seven. How old is Jessie?"

"We had her late; she'll be nineteen in two months."

"Is she really yours? Not adopted?"

"Yeah. What's this about?"

"Are you the biological father?"

"Yes! What-"

"You're _sure_?"

"Yes! What the hell are you getting at?"

"You were on an even-numbered team."

"And how," he asked, leaning forward, "Did you figure _that_ out?"

"Because, if you'd been a member of an odd-numbered team during the early Eighties, Jessie would have been at that school. And now, she'd either be running for her life or naked in a glass cell in some IO basement."

"The Odd Squads," he breathed. _A lot of puzzle pieces are falling into place; if she's lying, she's well prepared, or just damn good._

"Only Team guys your age remember that nickname; the odd-numbered teams are no different from the evens, now. There aren't many members left who got that 'special inoculation series' … that made them into Gen Twelves." She looked at him. "No rumors this time, Andy. You _know_ what I'm talking about, even if you never knew what it was: guys your age from the odd-numbered teams started getting weird, about the same time they got _lots _better at their jobs. They kept to themselves, mostly, and might say strange things if they drank in company. But they aced every test and trial, completed every mission, seemed to pull off miracles in the field."

"We thought they were getting special training, stuff they couldn't talk about."

"And they started disappearing."

"People don't always come back from missions, and the Odd Squads were drawing the toughest ones."

"Some of them did go out that way; some went crazy from overusing the mojo, and joined the Elevens in IO's basement; and some grabbed their kids and ran, when IO started stealing them. The treatment makes changes all the way down to genetic code, Andy. Children of Gen Twelves develop talents of their own, usually at puberty. They become Thirteens."

"So IO steals them from their parents? Farfetched."

"IO didn't get many that way; the Twelves got wise fast, and ran with their kids, or hid them. So that devious bastard Miles Craven quietly tracked them down, one at a time, but left them in place to keep from warning the others. He waited until the oldest of the kids approached puberty, and sent them all invitations to a 'special school' that was too good to refuse.

"It wasn't suspicious; even before their powers manifest, Thirteens tend to unusual aptitude, in athletics and academics both. The school was far from home and secluded, and the living arrangements were a little odd, but it was accepted as part of a special curriculum at an institution where no expense was spared to develop talented young minds." Her mouth tightened to a slash in her face. "IO had the kids thoroughly isolated. Mail and telephone and Internet didn't exist for them; all that family and friends got from the kids in school were e-mails which gradually turned into generic messages about how good things were going, and how busy they were; the kids got the same, notes from parents and sibs that sounded like they came from friendly strangers. When school holidays were about to start, IO used their total control of the kids' environment to concoct a hoax about a nationwide terror campaign targeting gifted schoolkids. 'For their own good,' they were ordered to forego their trips home and stay at the Academy – with their parents' enthusiastic agreement, of course. The students were told the school was adopting new security measures to keep them safe. Doors leading outside didn't open any more; armed guards appeared in the halls and classrooms and dorms, and escorted them everywhere, even the bathrooms. The 'school' turned into a maximum security prison." She took a quick breath, the sort of sound one makes when they're fighting back tears. "Some of the school officials, guidance counselors, PE coaches and such, weren't much older than the students, and the kids had confided in them. Turned out they were the kidnapped ones, the kids IO had had its hooks in for years, twisting them up good; they became the prison trusties, betraying the kids who'd trusted them." She looked at him. "You're not saying anything, Andy."

"It's a good story; I didn't want to interrupt."

"It gets better. When the kids started going through their changes, it became impossible to contain them and to hide the real nature of the Project. The security measures weren't enough, not to neutralize a hundred kids, any of whom might wake up with the ability to melt steel, or fly, or walk through walls."

"Oh, come _on_."

"What these kids can do is magic, Andy; it's why IO wants them so badly. My red-haired beauty, Caitlin, can bench press a school bus – I've seen her do it. Jack's boy Bobby can turn his finger into a cutting torch."

"Wait. Jack's a Twelve?"

"Team Seven till nineteen ninety-one, I think." She was about to continue, but he waved her to silence with his free hand.

She waited for him while he thought about it. Finally, he said, "I only know of one 'Jack' ever on the teams. You can't mean _him_."

"Bet I do: John Lynch, Jack to his friends, Director of Operations until about two years ago. Miles Craven kicks off, Jack goes AWOL, and the Genesis Project undergoes meltdown: _not_ a coincidence."

"I've been coming on to Jack Lynch's wife. Now I'm holding a gun on her. My life's not worth a plugged nickel."

"Are you trying to be funny? Cuz, I'm not laughing, you'll notice. The kids who manifested powers that might enable them to escape … got special treatment. Part of what Gen-factor gives you is natural, autonomic: heightened reflexes, immunity from disease, other things; but the big guns, so to speak, need some concentration to load and fire. IO has several ways of temporarily … breaking the connection that allows an individual to access his powers. None of those ways is pleasant. They used them anyway.

"IO wanted to make them trained killers, Andy, but first they needed to know what they could do, and they needed them docile and compliant, so they turned them all into lab animals. I'm not exaggerating. They really _did _put them in cages, under constant observation; naked, so any physical changes would be noticed right away. They used drugs and brainwashing and isolation. I get sick every time I think of it, and I think it's what made Jack's mind up to sabotage the Project and release as many of them as he could when he left. That, and discovering his missing son among the lab rats." She added quietly: "What they did to me might have been excused as ignorance, but they _knew_ they were torturing real people, kids, at the Project. That's unforgivable."

A boy shuffled up to her and lifted one shoe, showing her his dangling laces. She beckoned. "C'mere, Dale."

He wiggled the scrambler. "Don't."

"It doesn't affect bios. You could shoot me right through him, and he wouldn't notice. At least, not till I stopped tying his shoe." She tied the lace and sent him on his way. "I'm sorry about Hale; I'm even sorry about the other man, truly. But if the situation were the same today, I'd do things exactly the same way."

His mouth was dry. "I have some regrets of my own."

She gave him a long look. "I know what I said before. But I really thought you'd believe me. I thought you'd understand."

"And maybe I do. But I don't dare trust my feelings about this."

"All right, then." She clapped her hands. "Time, kids!"

One boy protested, "It's not time yet." He showed an old-fashioned wristwatch with hands. "See, the big one should be right here."

"I know." She smiled brightly. "But it's my last day, and I wanted time to say goodbye."

His stomach knotted, and it was getting hard to breathe.

Most of the kids filed past her sitting form with a brief wave, but a handful of boys held back. _Guess she can charm them at any age._ One of them was Drew.

The first child to approach was Dale. He stood in front of her with both laces untied, waiting. She grinned, tied them, then swiftly double-tied them so that they couldn't come undone. "Last time, sport."

"Hey!"

"Thought I didn't know you were doing it, huh? You _like_ seeing me bend down for you." She sent him off with a kiss on the forehead.

Next were the two boys who'd been fighting the first day. She addressed them together. "Next time you two get in an argument, I'm not gonna be there to break it up. You're just going to have to remember that brothers have differences, and sometimes half-brothers have more. But when the pushing starts, everybody loses, remember that too." She tousled their hair.

Malcolm, the big kid, held out his hands and she grasped them. "I'll remember. Play nice."

"What else?"

"Kids pick on me, I tell a teacher."

"That's right. Being nice doesn't mean you have to let people push you around."

The last one was Drew. He hugged her fiercely. "Don't go."

She wrapped her arms around him. Unseen by him, her face was as blank as a doll's, but her voice was filled with warmth. "You knew I'm just a temp. Sooner or later, I have to go. Didn't I tell you?" She held him away, and looked him in the eye. "I'm not gonna be there to catch you next time, little lion. Be careful. Mind your dad, and your grandpa; don't give them _too_ much trouble. Maybe we'll see each other again."

The door closed behind him as he waved, and silence filled the playground.

"Okay," she said. "Where are we going?" She started to stand.

He stood too, his legs unsteady. "Nowhere. Right here."

She turned her head, looking at the playground equipment and brightly colored toys. "This is a crappy place for an execution, Andy." More to herself than to him, she said softly, "What if a kid finds me?"

"I have the drop on you now, but I've got no way to restrain you, and I don't dare try to move you somewhere. Getting in a car with you would be suicide." He added, "Sorry." She sat down again, and he moved around behind her.

"Oh, no you don't." She turned her head to look up at him. "If you're so d-damned sure this has to be done, you can at least have the balls to face me when you do it. Look me in the eyes, and watch the lights go out."

"All right." His heart was lurching in his chest like a rat that wanted out of a bag. He raised the scrambler, holding it two feet from her forehead.

A screech broke the silence, and Bethie attached herself to his arm; he was so surprised he almost dropped the damn thing.

"Bethie! No!" She was beside him, and he hadn't seen her move. She pried the girl off him, and gripped her by the shoulders. "It's okay, baby. It's okay. Just go inside." Her eyes misted as she added, "And don't tell anyone." As the child ran into the building, she called again. "Don't tell!" The door closed, and Annie pushed her fists to her mouth. "Oh, god, I had to say it to her, didn't I?" She wiped her eyes and sat back down. "Better hurry."

His heart steadied down, almost resuming its normal beat. He approached again and raised the scrambler, only a foot away this time, took a breath and let it out. Despite her demand, when he pressed the stud, she closed her eyes, softly. He held it on her, the stud fully pressed, as the seconds ticked by. A minute later, her eyelids drifted open, her eyes unfocused. "What happened?"

"Nothing." He put the scrambler back in his pocket. "Power pack's flat. I couldn't get my hands on a charged one." It was a lie; he'd made damn sure the pack was flat before he came.

She trembled. "Why?"

"I couldn't trust my feelings for you. I had to _know. _I know you could have taken it away from me; hell, a _kid_ almost did it. But you could still have been bluffing me, right up to the moment of truth. I had to know what I was about to set loose on the world, even if it cost me my life."

She looked up at him. "Andrew Grissom, I don't know whether to kiss you or punch you out." She flowed upward like a fountain, took a step forward, and wound her arms around his neck. On tiptoe, her forehead was level with his chin. She tipped her head back and looked up into his eyes. "Um, a little help here?"

From the moment he put his arms around her, he knew it wasn't going to be a chaste kiss; she might call him 'Dad,' but his feelings toward her weren't very fatherly, and he wasn't surprised to feel her arms tighten around his neck as she pressed tight against him. No, wait, his arms were around her waist, he was doing all the pressing, almost pulling her off her feet. But when he loosened his grip, she was still all over him, and her mouth was wide open and inviting as hell. Reluctantly, he kept his tongue in his mouth and slid his hands up her flanks, shoulders, elbows, and finally he had her forearms in his hands, tugging gently. He pulled his mouth away. "Break."

She backed off no more than a hand's width, her eyes searching his face. "That… wasn't quite how I imagined it."

"Well, it was _exactly _how _I _imagined it."

"Hey, Annie?" Crystal's voice. How long she'd been there was anybody's guess. Only her head intruded briefly through the door opening, and then pulled back as she spoke through the doorway without looking at them. "Your, uh, your husband just called. He says your cell's still off, and he's worried."

"What a coincidence," she said huskily. "I was just thinking of him. Thanks, Crystal." She reached under the bench for her purse, pulled out her phone, and turned it on. "Always turn it off out here, and back on at the end of the day. I usually call by now." She pressed two digits, and held the phone to her ear. "A brush with death, and a kiss like _that_… my juices are flowing now. I'd better get a good meal into that man tonight, cuz he's gonna need his strength." A pause, and she smiled as she said, "Hi, love. I'm still at daycare. Got into a heavy discussion with one of the kids' grandparents. I'll tell you all about it tonight."

She listened; he watched her face blank, and then turn to utter dismay as she said, "Jack, _no_! I had _plans_ for you tonight! How soon are you leaving?" The dismay settled into resignation. "Oh, bugs. Are you leaving the car at the airport, or do you want someone to pick it up?" Almost a minute of silence, as she stared off unseeing. "No, really, it's okay. You go do what you do, love; but be ready to do what you do when you get home, too, that's all I'm asking. Okay. Uh huh." She smiled suddenly, just the corners of her mouth upturned, lips slightly parted, and her lashes lowered. _Bedroom eyes_, he thought. "I'll hold you to that, lover boy. Meantime, I just might find a handsome man to have dinner with tonight, to tide me over till Sunday." She shut off the phone and turned to him, her expression challenging. "When was the last time somebody cooked you dinner at home?"

"Uh-"

"Just dinner and talk, Andy. We've got a lot to discuss. I have to feed my kids, but it's boys' choice tonight, always something simple and meaty. They'll be done and out the door by six-thirty, likely. Then, I'll come over to feed you, and we can talk and make a night of it, if you don't have anything else planned."

"Make a night of it?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Stop it." She slapped his chest, then laid her hand on it. "I have to be home by midnight. We can talk old times, and maybe make some plans. Oh, here." With her other hand, she dug into the tiny front pocket of her smock and produced a slip of paper. "My number. I wanted to give it to you yesterday, but I didn't have anything to write on, so I did it last night to bring to work."

He took it, smiling crookedly. "An act of trust. And I brought a weapon."

Her palm described a gentle circular motion on his chest. "You know, the last man who pointed one of those at me, I married."

*

As she approached her house, Anna saw a strange car in the drive with a familiar pizza delivery sign on its roof. _I'm only a few minutes late. Were the boys really that hungry, or did they see an opportunity to keep the pressure up?_ She pulled in behind the car, blocking it, and waited. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw a familiar figure step out the front door, tripping over the welcome mat and almost dropping his insulated bag. Totally focused on getting to his car, the delivery man didn't even notice he was blocked in until she opened her door and stepped out. Then he stopped dead, eyes wide.

She smiled. "Hello, Marco. Did you get a good tip?"

"Uh." His eyes flicked up and down the street, looking for the safety of witnesses. She could tell by his pupil contraction that he didn't find any. "Yeah."

"Are you sure? The boys aren't usually very generous." _They probably thought they were being generous letting you leave with a whole skin._

"Yeah. One of the girls paid."

"_Really,_" she said, and stepped forward. He froze like a mouse that sees a shadow drifting across the ground and knows a hawk is overhead. She opened his car door for him. "Which one?"

"The, uh, the tall one. The redhead."

"Ah. She's pretty, isn't she?"

He swallowed, eyes locked on her.

"Come on," she said gently. "Every guy who's ever seen her gives the same answer to _that_ question."

"Yeah. She's mad hot." He watched her uncertainly.

"What was she wearing?"

"Ah, nothing much. I mean, she was in a pair of shorts and this little top. And gloves with no fingers."

_Surprised you noticed the gloves, Marco._ She widened her smile."Workout clothes. She doesn't wear much when she's pumping iron, does she?"

He just couldn't help himself: he grinned for a moment before he realized his danger. Then his face turned blank and watchful.

She nodded, still smiling. "It's a perfectly normal reaction, Marco. Taking pictures of her over the fence while she's sunbathing, then trying to convince your friends she's your party girl, _that's_ crossing the line."

"I'm sorry. Really. Sorry."

"I believe you." She really did, because she could hear it in his voice and pulse and sense it in his chemical emissions. She tilted her head towards the open car door, and he got in. She shut the door gently and ran a hand along the window sill. "I like your new car. Much nicer than the old one. Business picking up?"

"No. Insurance money. From the other one."

_The one we had cut up into a hundred pieces and deposited on your lawn in the dead of night. Feel lucky you didn't own a horse. _"Insurance didn't pay for a step up this big." _We already know where you got the money: payment from your uncle for your help setting up the clash between us and the Dibagio brothers._ _The clash that started with my kidnapping. _She stared into his eyes, silently, until he remembered real fear. "Sorry to hear about your Uncle Billy, Marco. Sounds like it was pretty messy." No news service had carried details of Billy Bennetti's death. "You know, aneurisms are like that. You can walk out of the doctor's office with a clean bill of health, and all the while, there's this tiny weakness in your circulatory system, like a thin spot on an inner tube. It can go any time, and if the artery's a big one… well, at least it was quick and painless. Must have been an awful couple of minutes though, watching his life gushing out of him and knowing there's no stopping it."

The boy swallowed. Sweat beaded his upper lip. He looked about to throw up. "Please. Let me go."

"In a hurry?" She smiled down at him. "Another delivery? Or a hot date? No, I have a feeling you don't date much." The smile disappeared. "You should meet more people, Marco. I could introduce you to somebody, set you up with a blind date you'll remember the rest of your life."

"I told you I didn't know what they were gonna do. I didn't tell anybody else. I _won't_ tell anybody."

She turned towards her car. "Stay in touch. Think twice before you quit this job, Marco. Don't make us look for you again."


	2. Dinner at Six

Three hours after leaving Annie at the daycare, Andy was standing at the bathroom sink, trimming his moustache for the third time, when he heard his son's key in the front door. He'd never asked for the key when his son moved out, nor changed the locks; and once Adrienne had left, Dan had given him a key to his place. _Just a couple of stags with no need for privacy._ He checked his watch: six PM. Enough time for a short talk, then ease them out the door before _she _arrived.

"Yo, Pop! Where you at?"

"Back here. Be right out." He met his son and grandson in the living room; he laid a hand on the child's head. "Hey, spud. Got cookies in the bottom cupboard."

As Drew ran into the kitchen, Dan said, "You shouldn't spoil him, he'll be expecting that all the time now."

"And he'll get it," he replied. "I have it on good authority he'll be hard to spoil."

"Dad… I got the job. Orientation starts Monday." Triumph edged his voice.

"Uh huh."

"Sixty kay, full medical, performance bonuses."

"Hefty ones, too. Don't forget to mention the private investment fund: doing, what, twenty-eight percent so far this year?"

Dan's face blanked. "How did…"

"How do you suppose a guy like me can put three kids through college?"

"Dad, _you_?"

"You might say it's a family-oriented organization; you had the inside track at IO before you knew it existed." His grandson toddled out of the kitchen, cookies in hand, mouth smeared with chocolate. "Spud, go check out the swing set while Dad and Grampa talk." After the child was out of earshot, he said, "Have they told you anything yet, about what they expect for their money?"

"A lot of travel, at first anyway. Investigative work, very secretive. Sounds like Wild West counter-terrorism work against some seriously nasty people."

"IO does a lot of that, and they do a good job, or we'd be suffering through ten times the shit you're seeing in the papers. But that's the tip of the iceberg." _The tip of the tip, apparently. _"I didn't want to get into this with you right now, but I already have a line on your assignment, and what you'll be doing. Can you stop by before you leave Sunday, so we can talk about it?"

"I've got time now, Dad."

"But I don't. I'm expecting company."

"Oh?" Dan took a good look at him, then deliberately looked around the room. Military service had made Andy a neat man, but the little three-bedroom shone like a jewel, because he'd come home and done his usual Sunday cleaning two days early. "Not your usual around-the-house outfit. Who is she, Pop? The divorced lady next door, the one who brings over the cookies? Or is the infamous Gilman widow calling again?"

"Nothing like that, just having a friend over for dinner."

"Uh huh. This is the second time this year I've smelled aftershave on you. Bet you used the razor less than an hour ago." Dan grinned at him. "Good for you, Dad. Mom's been gone for years, and she was dating a month after the divorce was final; it's time you got back in the pool. Do I get to meet her?"

"Son, _please_, I'm embarrassed enough already. Can you just slide out of here, and see me tomorrow?"

The doorbell rang.

Dan looked at him. "A little early? Maybe she's anxious." He bolted for the door like a kid and clutched the knob, grinning. "Don't worry, I won't embarrass you. I just want to see the lady who's ringing my old man's chimes." He threw back the door, and stood frozen at the sight of Annie, Drew's twenty-something babysitter, wearing shorts and a tank top, loaded down with a big cord-handled paper bag in each hand.

She smiled wide. "_Hey_, Dan. This explains the second car in the driveway. I must have been expecting you, cuz I brought enough for an army." She half turned towards the street. "My driver's parking the car." A menacing-looking black sedan, a Charger, he thought, sat at the curb across the street; in the driver's window, he could make out a profile half obscured by a mass of coppery hair. The car door opened, and out swung a pair of the longest and most spectacular legs he'd ever seen, sandal-clad and bare to well above mid-thigh, where the spandex bike shorts started. The girl unfolded herself out of the car, and traffic slowed to a crawl, cars behind hitting their horns; the rest of her was just as arresting as her legs. The well-filled elastic-trimmed cotton top she was wearing ended at her bottom ribs, showing a washboard that probably cost her two hundred sit-ups a day. She turned and bent almost double, reaching inside the car for her purse; it was enough to make your eyes water.

He was suddenly aware of Annie watching him with a wry smile. "Good for you, Andy. Eyes uncrossed in eight seconds, almost a record." Dan was still mesmerized, watching the girl stride across the street and up the drive to join them.

When she stood beside Annie, he was surprised again: she towered over the little blonde, and was the tallest person in the group by four inches. Annie said, "Guess I need to do introductions, since I'm the only one who knows everybody."

"Don't be so sure; your description was spot on." He offered a hand. "I'm Andy. You, no doubt, are Annie's step daughter, the red-haired beauty Caitlin."_ Who can bench press a school bus. _

A little color rose in her cheeks as she took his hand briefly. She looked at Annie. "Step daughter?"

"Am I something else today? Sister, girlfriend, co-conspirator?"

"Step mom works fine most of the time, Anna: you are what you do. It just sounds weird." She offered a hand to Dan. "Kat."

"What?" Give the boy credit, at least he was making eye contact; the walk up the drive must have given him time to gather _some_ of his wits. "What?"

She stood there, hand still out, smile stiffening. "Kat. My name."

"Oh. Hi." He took her hand, and held it unshaken.

Andy said, "In case you forgot, _your_ name is Daniel."

He flushed. "Yeah. Says so on my license." He let go of her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Annie hefted her bags. "You've got a beautiful doorway, Andy. Do we get to see the rest of the house?"

"Ha ha." He took her burdens. "Kitchen's this way." _Guess I won't be showing her the bedroom tonight._ "You're early."

"I was behind schedule, so the brats ordered pizza before I got home. Dan, where's Drew?"

"Back yard, probably trying to reach escape velocity on his swing. Want to see?"

"Yes, but not till I get dinner started. Can you and Caitlin keep him out of here for about ten? It would be more help than you could give me in the kitchen."

Dan looked at him, then at Kat. "Sure."

The girl glanced at Annie, who locked eyes with her and said firmly, "No." Annie said to the men, "Every female she knows tells her she needs a boyfriend. She's too polite to ask, but she's dying to know if this was a fix-up. _No_, hon. I didn't know Dan would be here, and Andy didn't know I was bringing you. So run off and be natural."

Dan looked at him speculatively as they left; the wheels were turning in the boy's head again, and Andy could see him putting the puzzle together. _She's married, to a man old enough to have a daughter about her age. We were supposed to be alone tonight, but she got cold feet and brought a chaperone. _

He followed Annie into the kitchen. As soon as they were there, she dropped the bags on the kitchen island and stepped around to the counter. While they unloaded them, she said, "What's _he_ doing here?"

"What's _she_ doing here?"

"She's part of the conspiracy, remember? I thought you might want some physical evidence you did the right thing. But we can't talk with _him_ here." She turned on the oven to preheat, and put a dish in the microwave.

Something about the way she moved caught his attention; he slid to the left, to test his theory. _Aha. _"Maybe I thought we needed a chaperone."

"Andy, my feelings for you might be a little confused, but I did _not_ come here to cheat on my husband. I'm quite in control of myself."

He moved in the other direction, and saw it happen again. "Uh huh. So why do you always move to keep the kitchen island between us?"

She stopped and gave him a wide-eyed look. "Because."

"Because?"

"Deception program, human-analogue response, whatever. You're pumping out pheromones, stud. I don't react chemically, but knowing you're doing it has me vibrating like a tuning fork, okay? I don't want Dan or Drew or, God forbid, Caitlin to come in here and catch us in a clinch. Even if that's as far as I'd ever let it go."

"You're kidding yourself, girl." He gave her the smokiest look he could muster. "_I_ broke it up at the playground, remember? We were headed _way _south of a kiss. If you'd come on time tonight, and alone, dinner'd be a little late."

"Annie!" Drew cried, as he rushed into the kitchen. He threw his arms around her legs and buried his face between her thighs as he hugged her. _Ah, the innocence of youth._

"Hey, sport. Told you we'd meet up again. I made dinner!"

"What is it?"

"It's got a long funny name, but you'll like it, I promise." The kid made a face; she dipped a finger into a dish and came out with a bowtie noodle in a creamy sauce. She brought it to his face. "Taste."

He chewed, swallowed. "Okay."

"Where's your dad?" He asked. _Having trouble watching two babes at once, son?_

"In the back yard, with Caitlin," he said. "She's pretty."

"She is that."

"She's big."

"Also true."

"And she's real strong."

He looked at Annie. "Now, why do you say that?"

"Dad's teaching her horseshoes. She knocked over the stakes."

"Oh."

"Is she a skank?"

He felt the flush to his hairline. "What-"

She raised a finger to shush him. "That depends. What's a skank?"

Wary now, the boy said, "A girl who likes Dad?"

"Well, I think maybe she does, but that doesn't make her a skank. That's a highly offensive word to most people, kid, even worse than 'sissy'. Where'd you hear it?"

"Mom was talking to Alan."

"Uh huh. Can you remember what she said?"

"She wants Alan to move in with her. She said they don't have to wait for the final papers to get signed. She said Dad's prob'ly got some skank in the house already. So she's not a skank?"

"No. A skank is a girl who's not fussy about the male company she keeps, and Caitlin's _very_ fussy. That's a word for hurting people, Drew; don't use it unless you don't want to talk to that person ever again."

"Oh. I'm glad I didn't ask _her_." He considered. "Is she gonna marry Dad?"

"Doubt it," Annie replied. She started chopping vegetables for salad.

"Are you gonna marry Grampa?"

"Definitely not. We're all just friends."

"I think Alan's gonna marry Mom."

"Good luck with that," he muttered. "The schmuck probably deserves her."

Annie gave him a sharp look. Drew regarded him soberly. "I like Alan. He's nice. Mom told me to call him Dad, but he said no, he'd be glad to be my dad, but I already have one."

"All right, I take it back; maybe he _doesn't_ deserve her, and she doesn't deserve _him_."

Her stare sharpened further into a real hawk eye. "I hear you get pretty high on that swing out back, lion."

"Watch me?"

"Not yet, I'm still cooking. But if you go back out, we'll both come see when we're done."

After Drew left, he said, "How do you know if _I'm_ going to like it?"

She grinned, dipped her finger in the same dish, and leaned across the island to offer some to him. Instead of licking the noodle off the tip, he took the whole digit in his mouth. Her breath caught as he stroked it with his tongue, sucking gently. She pulled her hand away and took a step back, bumping into the counter. He smiled evilly. "Told you."

"Stop it, Andy. Please. The husband, remember? Life not worth a plugged nickel?"

"I'm not going to tell him. Are you?"

"I tell him everything."

"You won't tell him about this." He circled the island. She didn't move as he approached.

"Caitlin will."

"Not if you ask her not to." They were less than a foot apart. "How about it? Feeling touchy-feely?"

She turned away suddenly and stepped towards the kitchen door. "Very much. But I'm about to bolt for the front door if you don't promise to be a gentleman tonight."

He grinned. "Pax. Just teasing, honest. Your virtue's safe, for now." He sobered. "Annie, we _do_ have lots to talk about. That old friend at IO that I went to see last night … I didn't go there about you; I went to find out about Dan. The Westminster Mall business came up later."

She nodded. "Okay."

"With his combat experience, I was hoping he'd end up assigned to Operations in a Razor team, or maybe even one of the Expeditionary teams, but his new boss is Ivery, the Research head." He looked at her closely. "Annie, all his training and experience are in small unit actions against opponents with undetermined capabilities, operations where weeks of careful planning sometimes goes out the window and you've got to think on your feet. What use does Research make of people like that?"

Her eyes widened again. "He's going to a pickup team," she said, almost in a whisper.

"Not just any team. He's headed for a team that's undergoing expansion and … reorganization, shall we say? Quite a few openings, and they're having trouble filling them with volunteers in-house." He closed on her, slowly. "_That's_ how Westminster Mall came up."

"Oh, God_, no_. Andy, what are we going to _do_?"

He took her hand. "For now, let's go watch the kids play."

*

"Drat," Caitlin said. "I'm _never_ going to get the hang of this." She straightened and looked at her last throw, two feet short of the stake.

Behind her, Dan said, "It's a simple game, really." _Great,_ he told himself. _Smooth. Pat her on the head, why don't you?_

She gave him a sour look. "So's chess. A six-year-old can learn it." She bent low for her last throw, and he struggled against looking up her shirt as the elastic at the bottom lost the fight and separated from her torso, or her rear end as the fabric stretched across her backside like spray paint. She whipped the horseshoe; traveling towards the stake in an amazingly flat trajectory, it whanged the already-angled stake and popped up into the air like a fly ball, sailing over the privacy fence into the neighbor's yard. "Dammit! I give up." She took six long steps to the fence, threw one leg over, and rolled lengthwise over the top, offering him a momentary view of her stretched out horizontally that did nothing for his wits. Standing on the other side, her head was still visible over the six-foot panels as she cast around looking in the tall grass.

Her head dipped. "Ah, found it. Heads up." The horseshoe flew back over the fence, landing almost at his feet. While she was out of sight, he had a chance to think; he looked at the horseshoe pit and the bent stakes. The pit had been in the same place since he was a kid, when his father installed it; plenty of time for the stakes to loosen up, he supposed.

She reappeared, resting her chin on the fence. "Oh, good. I didn't brain anybody." She brought her forearms up to the top of the fence and rested her chin on them. "Hi-dee-ho, neighbor."

He grinned at her. With most of her hidden behind the fence, it was easy to keep eye contact; she had beautiful emerald eyes, perfect for a redhead. No freckles, though. _Oh, well, nobody's perfect._ He looked over his shoulder, and saw that Drew was back on his swing, oblivious to grownup games. He stepped to the fence, bringing their faces a yard apart. "You've got a great arm, Kat. You just need practice to gain control of it."

"Not worth all the people I'd kill while I learn from my mistakes." A _very_ nice smile.

"Heh. The first time is the worst; it gets easier after that." It was just a joke, and a lame one, but as soon as he said it, the look in her eyes made him wish he could take it back.

Her light mood disappeared. "Is it really like that?"

He shrugged. _A girl like this has her pick of guys; am I the first troop she's talked to? And what line of BS do they tell her? _"Yes and no. You get into enough firefights, it gets to be automatic. But the memories have a way of ambushing you later."

"I have a morbid question. I don't have any right to ask, Daniel; don't answer if you don't want…"

"I really don't know, and I don't want to. Somebody starts shooting at you from a store window, and you send back a hundred rounds from a chain gun, you can't tell if you just killed one person or twenty… not even if you can enter the building for a body count; there's just not enough left." His throat got tight. "You don't know if they were all armed, or if some asshole dragged his wife and kids along, to follow him into Paradise. Or if the building's residents were too scared to leave."

"I'm sorry I asked, truly." She reached for his hand.

He took it, but only for a brief reassuring squeeze; he didn't want to press his luck. "I'm not."

"It's bad over there, isn't it?" Something in her voice invited more than a stock reply. With his discharge looming near, he was losing any inclination to spout the approved line on such subjects; as he answered, he found himself thinking about it, more than he had in a long time.

"It's falling apart over there. We can triumph on the field, anywhere we choose. But it's not enough, not nearly. It's a lot easier to destroy than create; things are breaking down faster than we can fix them. I'm not just talking about oil pipelines and the power grid; basic social services are unreliable, the government is further from a working democracy than ever, public trust is evaporating, and people are afraid to leave their homes. Sooner or later, our politicians are going to declare victory and bring the troops home, and if the Iraqis are very lucky, a new Saddam will rise and set things in order before too many people die."

"But, on the news, it sounds like things are turning around."

"The only thing that's changed is the way the news is being reported."

She nodded. "I can't imagine why that surprises me." Her eyes were huge and gorgeous, her voice bedroom-soft; not the effect she intended, he was sure. "Sounds like you're getting out just in time."

"More ways than one." he thought of Adrienne. "Yeah, I'm one lucky sonofabitch." A squeak from the swing set drew his attention. Drew was straining for the sky, determined and happy. "I really am." He turned back to her. "We sure haven't talked about _you_ much."

"What's to say?" she sprang upward; those magnificent breasts bobbed only slightly as she put her hands on the fence and locked her elbows. She swung one leg back over. _The shorts barely covered her ass before_, he thought, swallowing, as she straddled the fence. "I turned twenty six weeks ago, and I'm still in college. I'm a computer programmer, which everyone knows is about the most boring job there is. I come from Seattle, famous for trees, rain, and coffee shops. I try to live a quiet life, and I don't meet a lot of people. You probably had more excitement in the past week than I've had in the past three months." He couldn't will himself to step back from the fence as she swung the other leg around like she was dismounting a horse, putting her back to him and giving him a breathtaking shot of her glutes flexing. She stood, turned, and they were standing less than a forearm's length apart.

"Ever think of modeling? Put you on a billboard, I bet you could sell anything from cosmetics to bulldozers."

"Well, there's another thing: I'm not comfortable having my picture taken. It always looks like a stranger."

His father's voice came from the doorway behind him. "That girl reminds me of a gazelle I stirred up once, driving a Land Rover in Africa." He turned just in time to see Annie slip her hand out of his father's. Even on slight acquaintance, he knew Annie had a hard time keeping her hands off people she liked; but his dad didn't … usually._ If someone had told me, I wouldn't have believed it._

"What was it doing driving a Land Rover?"

"Annie! Catch!" Drew bailed out of the swing and flew towards her in a high arc. She had just enough time to take two steps forward and stretch out her hands as he dropped into them. She swung him around to absorb his momentum and set him down, both of them laughing. "Once is _it_, sport, not again. Look how scared your dad is."

Dad looked at him. "I know. I guess they do it all the time. I almost had a heart attack, first time I saw it."

Annie turned Drew towards the house and whapped his butt to get him started. "Okay, guys, dinner's almost ready. You've got just enough time to wash up."

Dan followed his son. "Coming, Dad?"

Annie lifted an eyebrow. "Going to the bathroom together … that's supposed to be a girl thing, isn't it?"

"Probably take both of us to get the kid clean."

Once they were behind the bathroom door, Dan didn't waste any time. While Drew ran his hands under the faucet, he said to his dad, "You dog."

Dad didn't even pretend ignorance. "Come on, you know what she's like. She's a caretaker, loves kids and old folks; she calls me 'Dad' sometimes. She takes meals to the neighbors, for chrissakes. I'm just unduly flattered by the attention, is all."

"Uh huh. Drew, that's good. Go to the kitchen and see if the girls need any help, okay?"

When the door closed again, he said, "Bullshit, Dad. I bet you haven't done it yet, but all the signs are there. If you see each other twice more this week, you'll end up in bed."

"Well then, I guess I'd better eat out for the rest of the week." Then: "Seriously, now. She's a sweet kid, with some … vulnerabilities I'm _trying_ not to take advantage of. I'm glad you came by." He grinned. "Especially since she brought a girlfriend. What do you think?"

"Are you _kidding_? But I don't think it's going so well. My usual charm doesn't seem to be working."

"Your usual charm is nowhere in evidence. The way you keep staring at her, you'd think you haven't had any in _months_."

"I haven't, but that's not the problem; this girl makes me feel like I'm in junior high. She was _made_ to be stared at, and that costume she's wearing doesn't help one bit. But she isn't flirting at all. In fact, she's hardly talking to me. She _has _to know what she's doing; I guess I just didn't measure up."

"Maybe she just doesn't know what to say to you. From where _I'm_ standing, she seems interested." His father wet his hands and lathered them with soap.

"I'd have to take a number. 'Needs a boyfriend', my ass. You see that car she's driving? It's got_ '_boyfriend's car' written all _over_ it. She must have a _stable _of guys. Besides, what have I got in common with a twenty-year-old computer programmer from Seattle?" He took his turn at the sink.

"You might be surprised."

*

"Anna, I was only supposed to drop you off. Why the change in plan?" Caitlin poured the last glassful of iced tea, and filled a glass with water for Anna. "I was ready for a workout. I would _never_ have left the house like this if I'd thought I'd be getting out of the car." She looked down. "This outfit is date _poison_."

"Sorry, hon. I came here to talk to Andy alone, but as soon as I saw Dan's car in the drive, I knew that wouldn't happen without a diversion."

"Oh, I'm diverting him, all right. I feel like a pinup girl. Those two must think I'm a trollop."

"They'd better not; they hint something like that to me, I'll kick some butt. What do you mean, it's date poison? That outfit's a traffic-stopper."

"That's not all it stops. It's damn hard to keep a conversation going when his attention wanders every fifteen seconds." She arranged the filled glasses on a tray. "Every time I _move_, I see the video recorder turning on behind his eyes."

"He can't help himself. It's your allure. It was full on in the back yard, I could tell by his hormone production. You just have to get comfortable around him, is all."

"I'm on a surprise date with Matt Damon, and I'm dressed for a pajama party. This is as comfortable as I'm going to get."

"Oh, pity poor Caitlin; her beauty is her curse." Anna pulled a dish from the microwave, and they both headed towards the dining table.

"Stop it, I'm over all that, mostly. But this non-date would be going a lot smoother if I were five-six and one-thirty, with mousy brown hair." She set a glass at each place. "It'd be easier if he were a creep, too; I'd just ignore him."

"You like him?"

"What little I know about him, I like. He's very centered and earnest. Whatever problems he has with the way I look, he doesn't seem to mind that I'm four inches taller. He loves his boy and his dad. And he thinks for himself."

Anna looked at her thoughtfully. "Did you give him your number?"

She turned back to the kitchen. "I never give guys my number. Besides, he hasn't asked."

"Would you?"

She considered. "He's interesting. I don't know; I'm afraid a date with him would be agonizing. Sometimes he's so obviously _avoiding _staring at me, it's almost worse."

They paused at the kitchen doorway. "Some advice?"

"From _another_ girl with zero dating experience? Sure."

"If you think he's got possibilities, give him your number. Get his. Spend a couple hours relating to each other as disembodied voices before you go out; take the pressure off. I bet he'll see you then."

Drew was standing in the kitchen.

"Hey, sport. What's up?"

The little guy was wearing a long-suffering expression. "Dad said, see if you need help. He wants me to go so he can talk to Grampa." He looked up at Anna. "Dad said a bad word. I think they're fighting. Is Grampa sick?"

"Well, he's got a medical condition, but he has medicine to take if he feels bad. Is he okay?"

"I dunno. Dad told him he'll end up in bed if he sees you again."

Maybe Anna couldn't blush, but she felt the heat rising in her own face. Anna said calmly, "Your dad's just worried about him. He didn't mean it. Your Grampa's fine. Go get them, lion, dinner's ready. Tell them if they stall a little longer, they won't have to help set the table."

When he left, she turned to her... girlfriend for now, she supposed. "Anna … what are we _doing _here?"

With a headshake, her little companion replied, "No time, hon, the explanation would take too long. Suffice to say, we want to make a good impression on both of them. What was up with that horseshoe game?"

With an eye on the doorway, she said, "The weight and the throw were just right to put me in a sort of dead spot between power-on and power-off; every time I think I'm throwing it _just_ right, Gen kicks in and doubles my throw effort." She shook her head. "It's weird: if I think about it, I can shut it off when I'm running or riding a bike or even lifting weights, but throwing things is still hit-or-miss … literally."

"I thought maybe you were playing up to him."

"Never occurred to me."

"Just as well; he doesn't seem the sort of guy who needs his ego stroked. Well, more than any other guy," the little android amended. "Just stay honest with him, is _my_ advice."

"_Honest_. I can scarcely have a conversation with him, for all the secrets I've got to keep."

"You've got to think of dishonesty and keeping secrets as two different things. Don't worry so much, and try to have fun. Besides," she added with a meaningful look, "our gentleman friends have a few secrets of their own."

*

From the other side of the bathroom door, Drew said, "Annie says dinner's ready, and if you stall you won't have to set the table."

Andy looked at his son. "That's our cue, I guess." He opened the door. Drew looked up at his dad. "Caitlin likes you. She never gives out her number, but Annie said she should give it to you. She wants you to ask."

Dan blinked. "How did you hear all that?"

"I went to the kitchen, but they were at the table talking."

"I should be ashamed of myself for what I'm thinking," Dan said slowly. "I _am_ ashamed of myself. What else did she say?"

The kid screwed up his face in concentration. "A bunch of stuff, I don't get a lot of it. She doesn't like the way she looks, and she gets scared when people stare at her. She's got 'zero date something."

"Zero date experience?"

"Yeah. And she's afraid to go out with you. She says you're Matt Damon."

"Danny, you should see your face right now." He chuckled. He patted his son's shoulder. "Sounds like you made a good enough first impression. Ball's in your court, son."

By the time they reached the kitchen, the table was set with everything but the dish from the oven. "Can't say the men folk didn't help," he said as he carried it on a towel to the table. "Smells great. What are we eating?"

She stuck spoons into each dish. "Nothing special: garden salad with oil and vinegar dressing. Farfalle primavera with chicken and sweet Italian sausage. Green beans with prosciutti, sliced thin, and red bell pepper. Italian bread, fresh-baked, and I brought some olive oil and herbs if you're inclined to dip. Tiramisu okay for dessert?"

Dan looked at Caitlin. "You eat like this all the time?"

"Only on the days Anna picks the menu, which is most days. You learn to pace yourself, or we'd all weigh a thousand pounds by now."

He pulled a chair out and held it; looking at Annie, he said, "Milady?" She glanced toward Caitlin as Dan took his father's hint and pulled out a second chair. "Kat?" Only when the redhead smiled and moved towards the chair held for her did Anna do likewise. _Has she ever been seated by a man before? What other simple gestures might be new to her?_ He pushed her chair in, and stole the opportunity to brush her shoulders with his fingertips.

As he sat next to her, he looked over the lavish meal. "You must have a heck of a deli in your neighborhood." _Maybe I can get her to drop a clue about where she lives._

"How so?" She started dishing up.

"All this stuff you bought. If this is a sample, the place must be fantastic."

"Ooh," Caitlin said. "Fatal error."

"Andy, I don't serve prepared or packaged food. This is all mine."

"Come on," he plowed on stubbornly. "You whipped up a meal like this in ... what, less than two hours?" Annie stopped serving; he watched her face cloud up.

"Whoa, time out," Caitlin interrupted. "Anna, reboot. You _know_ most people eat out of boxes and cans. Andy, she _cooks:_ fresh ingredients, nothing prepared or packaged that she can make herself. This salad has veggies from her garden. If she's making something that freezes okay, she makes extra; we have a big freezer full of these neatly marked containers, everything from single serving snacks to meals for six. She bakes almost every day. It's not like she's a nut about it. We eat cereal from a box, and peanut butter from a jar, and sometimes the boys sneak a package of Pop Tarts into the house, but that's about it. There's always plenty to eat, and she never throws food away. I haven't opened a can of soup in _years_."

"I see. Annie, I apologize. Caitlin's right: I have no _idea_ how quick a good cook could whip up a feast like this. Once again, I've managed to show how little I know about you, and how many wrong assumptions there are in my head. Forgive me."

Annie resumed filling plates. "Humph. Your stupidity is exceeded only by your gallantry. You have my permission to take the foot out of your mouth, Andy." Everyone's plate was filled. He reached for his utensils, but stopped when he saw Annie fold her hands, followed half a second later by Caitlin. "Andy, do you say grace at mealtimes?"

_Clever, little girl; a convincing human touch. How many more surprises are you going to throw at me today? _"On holidays, is all. But I'm not averse." He folded his hands, followed a moment later by his son and grandson. _Well, what are we in for? Some little kiddy prayer from daycare? "God is great, God is good…"_

Annie bowed her head. "Beloved Creator, we meet here to share food and fellowship under Your care. We thank You for Your many gifts, among which are love, friendship, community, and useful work. We thank You for the sustenance You provide, both to our bodies and our spirits. Grant us the wisdom to understand Your will for us, and the courage to carry it out, that we may live in the light of Your favor forever. Amen."

"Amen," the rest of them echoed. Dan said, "That was really nice, Annie. Different, but nice. Something about it made me think of the Amish. What church do you go to?"

"The First Church of Anna." She glanced at him. "Reformed." Then she looked at Drew, who was making hideous faces at his plate. "What's _that_ about? I thought the noodles were okay."

"Not _those_." He pointed to the green beans. "They're _icky_."

"Give it up, Annie," Dan said. "You can't win."

She ignored him. "You tried them?"

"I did before."

"Uh huh. Fresh, or out of a can?"

"I dunno."

"They taste different fresh, especially if they're made right. If you put chocolate cake in a can with a quarter cup of water, would you want to eat it a month later?" She screwed up her face in a good imitation of his 'green bean' expression; the boy giggled. "It's okay, sport; maybe you're just too little for some grownup foods." She leaned towards the boy. He barely caught the whisper: "But watch your dad, when _he_ tries them."

Dan had just inserted a forkful of beans into his mouth; he chewed experimentally, lifted his eyebrows, and chewed faster as he gathered up another load on his fork, which he popped into his mouth as soon as he swallowed the first. "Wow. Do you cater?"

"Only for friends." She forked a bean off Drew's plate. "What do you say? Can't be a baby forever; let's see how grown up you are." The kid stared at it apprehensively; she grinned at him. "You're not _afraid_, are you? The guy who ate a bug on a dare yesterday? Put it in, chew, taste, swallow, and tell me." He opened his mouth and she pushed the fork in. "Like it or don't, or maybe it needs something different."

"It's different. Not icky, but I don't …"

"Some people like pepper on them." She shook a few flakes on a second bean, and offered it to him. "Tell me if this is any different."

"Better. But I dunno." The kid was chewing without any tortured expressions, but he was clearly reluctant to let go of his cherished dislike.

"Well, you know you like the pasta. Try it this way." She scooped some sauce from the primavera dish and drizzled it over the last two beans. "Last time."

He tried it, taking them off the plate himself. "They're okay, I guess."

"Well, looky here. They're all gone, and you don't even know if you like them yet. You want to try some more?"

"No, thanks."

"'Sokay, sport. Grownups don't like all the same things either; what counts is that you tried something new, and decided for yourself."

Dan said, "Annie, you don't have enough on your plate to keep a bird alive."

"When I cook, I eat half a meal in the kitchen, sampling." She turned to him. "So, Andy, what do retired people do, besides visit daycare centers?"

He tore off a piece of bread from one of the small loaves Annie had brought and dipped it from a saucerful of ingredients by his plate. "Oh, I keep in touch with old friends; some of them are still gainfully employed, but most of them are pensioners like me. The ones too far away to visit, I write. I go to the firing range to keep my hand in, and I take long walks. I travel, a little, usually with a group of my old cronies. We do an annual hunting thing in Michigan's Upper Peninsula."

"No lady friends?"

_And where are you going with this, Annie? _"Not at this time, no." He smiled at her. "Seems the good ones are all taken." He felt her hand squeeze his thigh briefly.

Caitlin said, "Daniel, what are _you_ doing, now that you're back? Looking for a job?"

"Just got one. I start next week." He shifted in his seat. "I don't have many details, really. It's security work. I got lured in by the paycheck; I've got a lot of legal bills to pay off, and I'd take anything that paid enough." He looked across the table at him. "I go through orientation on Monday; I'll know more then, I suppose."

Caitlin raised her plate. "Hit me again, Anna? More of everything."

"As usual." She loaded it up.

"Lordy," Dan said, "a girl who _eats_."

"Takes a lot to keep all this going," she said, taking her plate back. "I've got a high metabolism."

"I love it. I get _so_ tired of taking a girl someplace nice and watching her just _push_ the food around on a twenty-dollar plate. Kat, I've _got_ to take you to eat somewhere."

She was chasing a green bean around her plate with her fork. "Okay, when?" The fork stopped, as the two of them realized they'd made a date.

"Ah, well, how about Saturday? Tomorrow, I mean?"

"'Kay. What time?"

"As long as we're doing dinner," he plunged in, "how about a show after, maybe? Seven sound okay?"

She looked at Annie. "I have to be home by midnight."

He smiled. "Okay, Cinderella. Should be plenty of time."

"Where are we going? How should I dress?" Damned if she _didn't_ sound nervous.

"I don't know yet. Let's see where I can get a reservation. I'll call you, by four, say … if I can have your number."

"Sure. Okay. We'll trade after dinner."

"Suits." He looked across the table. "Annie, have you _touched_ your plate?"

_He wasn't sidetracked, girls. How's she going to handle this, I wonder?_

Caitlin broke in. "It's your stomach again, isn't it?"

Annie took the cue. "'Fraid so, hon."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Sure, it'll pass. Skipping a meal won't hurt me."

Dan looked at Caitlin and opened his mouth; she shook her head minutely, and he closed it again. Andy thought, _I've seen entry teams who didn't watch each other's backs as well as these two girls: just maybe, we can pull this off._

"Well, _I'm_ stuffed," he said, half an hour later. "I think the second dessert did me in."

"Or maybe the half pot of coffee you washed it down with. I hope you're not planning on sleeping tonight," Annie said as she stowed the last of the leftovers in his refrigerator.

He looked at her through lowered lids. "Wasn't part of my _original_ plan, but I promised to be a gentleman."

"Oh, pooh. You weren't planning to seduce me tonight, Andy." Her back was turned, but he could hear the dimples.

"No, not really." He stepped up behind her. "But I was definitely open to the possibility." He could hear Dan and Caitlin in the living room. He circled her waist; she spun like a top to face him and put a hand on his chest.

"No," she whispered. But she didn't push him away, and her lips were still parted as she looked up at him.

He smiled, released her, and stepped back. "No," he agreed. He took her hand. "Got something to show you," he said, leading her out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

She tugged in his grip as they headed down the hall. "Andy. Is this the way to your …"

"Yes, but we're not going there." He stopped at the linen closet. He let go of her hand to open the door and pull down a box from the top shelf. "Time for some fun and games. Ever hear of this?"

"Twister," she read from the box. "The game that ties you up in knots. Ages six to adult, two or more players." She clutched it to her chest. "Ah, beloved childhood memory; the hours I whiled away playing this game."

"Only if your parents kept theirs around," he said. "If you look at the picture on the box, you'll see the spectators are wearing platform shoes and bell bottoms."

"Which, I suppose, went out of fashion in the Age of Steam."

"Seventies, actually. I bought it before Danny was born."

"Why would you buy it before your kids were born?"

He grinned evilly again. "You'll see."

She gathered a bunch of his shirt front in her hand, just above the waist. "Prick." Then, she tucked it back in, letting her fingers linger inside his waistband.

"Dicktease," he said, lifting her chin with a forefinger.

"We _are_ playing with fire, aren't we?"

He looked down the hallway, towards the living room. From this angle, only a small slice of the couch was visible: seated on it, his son stared down the hall at them. "We sure as hell are." He dropped her chin, turned her, and guided her down the hall.

"Twister!" Drew jumped off the couch and reached for the box.

He grinned. "I introduced him to this game a couple days ago. The little rodent beat my butt." He and the boy spread the vinyl mat out. "Drew and I can go first, so everybody can catch on. It's a simple game."

"Not the first time I heard _that _tonight," Caitlin said. "But _everybody_ knows how to play Twister. They've been making it since the Sixties."

The look Annie gave him could have blistered paint. He chuckled.

Dan spun the dial and called out instructions, as he and his grandson placed their hands and feet on the large colored dots.

"Left hand – red!" A scramble for the nearest dot. "Right foot – green!" "Right foot – blue!" Eventually he overreached, overbalanced, and fell to the mat, breathless and smiling, as Drew screeched his victory. He said to his son, "You're up. Who wants winners?" Dan looked at Caitlin, but Annie quickly put in, "Me! Drew, clean his clock and we'll rumble." Drew went down first, however. As Dan squared off against his next opponent, he said, "Since I've got, like, two feet of reach on you, I'll go easy." He grinned down at her. "To pay for the meal."

She grinned back. "Easy or hard, you're gonna get beat by a girl, Force Recon."

Andy called directions. They weren't playing for ten seconds before he realized Dan didn't have a chance. Not only was Annie lightning quick, reaching the next spot before he finished calling out the instructions, she was strategizing from the first move, picking her spots so as to block Dan's easiest moves with her body, forcing him to stretch and twist to reach a spot. The boy was in great shape, but the competition was giving him a workout he never trained for. He could see the frustration building in him, not only from the way she was maneuvering him, but from the way she had him puffing without her breathing hard or breaking a sweat.

"Dan, would you mind moving your head just a smidge to the right?" She said sweetly. "You're dripping on me."

She finally had had him face up over her, blindly reaching for a spot he couldn't see. His sweaty hand slid out from under him, and he toppled, landing on her and sending them both to the mat. "Oof. Sorry. Draw?"

"Not on your life, Force Recon. Two out of three?"

"Huh. Kat, you're up. Take her down hard."

He gave the spinner to Dan, and watched the two girls play. Ten minutes later, he suspected that the contest could go on forever: Annie was playing just as hard as she had with Dan, but Caitlin's incredible reach and flexibility let her reach any spot on the mat with ease, and she wasn't wearing down at all. The two of them writhed all over the playing field, giggling at every call; they traded positions, with first one, then the other on top. Finally, after another ten minutes, Annie glanced their way and said, "I think we should call a draw."

Caitlin grinned down at her; their faces were inches apart. "Why? I'm not tired, and I _know_ you're not."

"It's getting awfully quiet over on the couch, don't you think?" She glanced down meaningfully at their intertwined bodies. Annie's hands and feet were spread wide, with one of Caitlin's bare knees snug between her thighs; the redhead had one arm around the little blonde's head, and another around her waist to reach a spot underneath; their breasts were almost touching, they were so close. "I think we've given the boys enough girl-on-girl entertainment for one night." He felt a touch of embarrassment, but not much; Dan flushed. Drew, oblivious and bored with watching, was fidgeting in his seat and glancing toward the now-dark back yard.

"It's about time for bed, spud," he said as the girls untangled and stood. "Put him in the blue bedroom, Dan."

"It's early yet!" He glanced at Annie for support.

"You still want to go fishing tomorrow? That means we get up at dawn, which means _you _go to bed early."

The kid went down swinging; he said to Annie, "Tuck me in?"

"I thought _I _did that," Dan protested.

She grinned at him. "We'll _both _do it." She followed the two of them down the hall.

He rolled up the mat and put the game in the box. "I'm putting on a fresh pot of coffee. Kat, you want something from the kitchen?"

She smiled at him. "Thanks, Mr. Grissom, I'm fine."

He looked at her gravely. "You're going to have to call me Andy. Or else I'm going to start calling you Miss Fairchild." As soon as he said it, he knew he'd made a mistake; the way the smile froze on her face confirmed it. _How did I know her last name? Annie? How would it come up in casual conversation? Think of something, while you make coffee._

He stepped into the kitchen and refilled the coffee maker; as he was measuring out the grounds, he heard her voice, low and toneless, right behind him. "You were the man with the gun. In the lab."

He started the machine. _Is making a pot of coffee going to be my last act on earth, I wonder? She can probably tear me apart like one of Annie's loaves. _"To my shame, yes. She seems to have forgiven me that, which is better fortune than I deserve."

"What sort of 'private talk' did she come here for?"

He turned and looked up at her. She didn't look like a gazelle now; more like a rhino pawing the dirt. Her hands curled loosely at her sides, as if ready to grasp something, and her stare was twin targeting lasers, emerald instead of ruby. _There's something going on between these two, something beyond team mate protectiveness. There's no guessing what I might say to set her off._ "I think she wanted to discuss my place in her future, if any. She's got a big heart, with room in it even for me." He added, "If I live to see my bed tonight, I'll kneel and thank Annie's Creator for giving me a second chance with her."

"And what sort of chance are you looking for?"

_Aha. Protecting her step mother's virtue … or her step father's honor?_ "I don't know, but I'll be grateful for anything she offers me."

He watched her relax; her eyes became gems again instead of part of a weapon system. The corner of her mouth twitched. "You and Dan are a lot alike. I can see why she likes you, despite everything." She filled a glass with water from the sink. "How much has she told you?"

Briefly, he recounted Annie's story, without saying he'd extracted it at gunpoint. He sipped his coffee, she her water; the vessels and his story were all finished at the same time. At the end, she nodded. "So your meeting was pure coincidence. You know, her life is _filled_ with things like this. It makes it easy to imagine some Supreme Being watching over her."

"So, she really believes?"

The girl nodded again, humor in her eyes now. "She says God _must_ have had a hand in making her. Bios just aren't smart enough. Not that she doesn't love us; she just thinks … the people who built her were shocked down to their shoes by what she could do, by how she seemed … so much more than the sum of her parts."

"True." He searched her face. "She told me about how you helped her through that nightmare. Doesn't it scare you sometimes, knowing what she can do?"

"It doesn't scare me any more than what _I_ can do. Or the kids I live with. Knowing you can level your house in a momentary fit of temper does wonders for your self-control." She turned her head in the direction of the bedrooms, and said quietly, "I'm just glad to have her with us. I don't know what we'd do without her."


	3. Bedtime Story

After Drew came out of the bathroom, Dan watched as Annie turned down the bed for him to jump into, then tucked him in snug. "Night, sport."

"What about my story?"

He shook his head. "Grampa doesn't have any story books yet, Drew." His one attempt at telling a bedtime story had been a disaster; he'd mixed up several childhood tales and ended up stuck for an ending.

Drew looked at Annie. "You tell one."

"Lion, all my kids are big like Caitlin. I don't know any bedtime stories."

"You'll think of one," he said. "You're good at telling stories."

For a long moment, he thought she'd refuse. Finally, she said slowly, "I have a story."

The boy settled in, waiting.

"Not so very long ago," she began, "in the cold north where men seldom go, a wolf clan lived and hunted, courted and mated, had pups and raised them to adulthood. One of them was a sweet and beautiful pup named Lu. As a baby, he stayed inside the wolf camp, nursing from his mother and rolling in the snow, playing with his littermates and cousins. As he grew taller and stronger, he played chasing and hunting games with the older pups, and mock battles where no one ever got hurt.

"And the older wolves watched, waiting for him to grow big enough to take his place as an adult, a hunter in the clan. For wolves are social creatures: they care for one another and hunt for the whole group, so that the sick and young and old do not starve. The older wolves teach the younger, so that the circle of life is unbroken.

"So it was that when Lu was grown tall and swift and strong, almost to his full size, the chief of the clan sent him to a hunting party, to learn how to make his contribution. Even on the hunt, wolves prefer company, and bring down game as a group that no wolf can attack alone. They form parties that sometimes last all their lives, learning each other's ways and working ever more closely together. A wolf that hunts alone is rare, and they often grow strange, and lose their loyalty to their clans, and become outcasts when they stop bringing food for the group.

"The hunting party that Lu was sent to learn from was a trio of brothers, old wolves long past their prime, but still large and fierce. In their younger days, they had been soldiers, guarding the clan's territory against other wolves. When they became too old to fight the young warriors, they were given a stretch of land to the south to hunt, and left largely to themselves. Although they came to camp well-fed, they seldom brought back more than a few rabbits to share, and were considered no great hunters. But it was their turn to teach, and so Lu was sent to learn whatever he might.

"When he met them, greeting them on his belly as he had been taught, he was more afraid than he had ever been in his short life. The brothers were veterans of many fierce battles, with torn ears and scars on their necks and noses. One of them, Ace, bared his teeth and snarled, his hackles rising. "Go away, you miserable runt! Our secrets are our own." But the largest wolf, Sharl, licked the pup's muzzle as a token of acceptance and said, 'Come with us, pup, and we'll teach you to be a wolf.'

"'Yes, and much more, you'll see,' said Ben, the third brother. Ben made Lu uneasy, even more than Ace, because he reminded him of the pups that had played with him by running out from hiding to bite his back legs.

"But he joined their party, and they traveled to the brothers' hunting preserve in search of game. There they showed him how to catch rabbits, digging at one entrance to the burrow while the others lay in wait at the other exits. They easily caught all the rabbits that they brought to the camp each week in a single afternoon. They buried their catch in the cold ground, and Sharl said, "Now we'll do some _real_ hunting." The others laughed in their wolfish way, red tongues lolling, and took him south, out of the clan's territory, to a land where only the most desperate or clever wolves go to hunt."

Dan listened to Annie's story with growing unease. It wasn't just that the story seemed _way_ ahead of a four-year-old's comprehension; or the way she sat on the bed, staring at the wall with a spooky lack of focus as she told it. The narrative seemed too detailed to be something she was making up on the spot; he felt sure she was drawing on some life experience for the meat of the story. And he had a feeling the tale was going to have a bad ending.

Apparently Drew was having trouble with it too; he'd been fidgeting since the part where Annie had introduced the wolf brothers. Finally, he spoke. "Annie, how come they've got people names? How come they don't have wolf names?"

Her eyes cleared and focused on him as she smiled. "You mean like Sharptooth and Growler and One Ear?"

"Uh huh."

"Cuz wolves don't use names like that really, any more than Lu or Ace. A _real_ wolf name would be 'first pup of the third litter born the winter the river didn't freeze over.'" She grinned. "I can't say _that_ all the time. And if I tried to say it the way the wolves do, the neighbors would call the police."

"Okay." He settled back down. "The old wolves are bad. They've got a secret, don't they? Something the other wolves won't like."

"We'll see." She smoothed his hair back. "Sure you want to hear the rest? Not too late for Goldilocks or Hansel and Gretel."

"I like this one. It's real, isn't it?"

"No." She laughed softly. "But it _could_ be." She resumed.

"Now the brothers took Lu on a journey, not hunting, but running swiftly, with a clear destination. They traveled south, running for a day and a night with hardly any rest, until Lu was footsore and hungry and very weary. But the brothers ran on with no sign of slowing, until the air grew warm, the trees lost their white mantles, and water ran in the stream beds. There, they began to cast about, looking for some strange new game that drew them and excited their lust to hunt like no other. When they found it among the trees, Lu saw his first deer.

"In form, it resembled a caribou, the hoofed grazers of the far north, and a prized catch for a hungry pack. But this was no long-faced monster larger than two wolves, with a rack of antlers like tree limbs on its head. This creature was a doe, judging by its lack of horns, and was scarcely larger than Lu, and so dainty it seemed smaller. As it drifted through the trees head-down, he watched, fascinated, delighted just to look at it, with no thought of taking it to eat.

"'Pretty, eh?"' Ben was beside him, watching the deer with a strange light in his eyes. He licked his lips and said, 'Tasty, too, the best you ever had. But there's more satisfaction to be got from one than just a full belly.'

"The deer heard his voice, and sprang away. But that had been part of the brothers' plan. Sharl rose up from hiding, directly in the doe's path, snarling. Terrified, the doe changed direction, only to find Ace in her path. With every escape blocked, she ran from wolf to wolf as they slowly closed on her, until she could only turn from one to the other.

"This was when any other wolves would have sprung on their prey, opening its throat for a quick death and a feast. But the brothers had another need to fulfill. Lu watched in horror as they taught him cruelty.

"For cruelty is uncommon among animals, even the fiercest predators. The hunters of the natural world kill for food, not for pleasure, and make the prey suffer no more than need be. Even among those who hunt on two legs, cruelty is rare." She paused and said softly, "Except when they hunt one another."

He almost stopped her then. _How will Drew sleep a wink, after hearing this? I'm not sure I_ _will. What well are you drawing this from, Annie? _

"They circled the terrified doe, and whichever of them was behind her would leap in, biting at her legs. When she turned to face her tormentor, another wolf would rush in. Lu could hear her heart hammering, and her labored breathing. Her bleating as they tore at her filled his ears. Finally, she could no longer stand. As soon as she fell, the wolves were on her, and her cries were stilled.

"That was the first of many deer hunts the brothers took him to witness. Though they allowed him a share of the meat afterwards, they did not invite him to join their sport, for which Lu was grateful. They hunted two and three times a day, taking more game than they could possibly eat, enough to feed the clan for days. But their hunger for pain and fear was not so easily satisfied as their need for food. That first deer was the quickest and most merciful of their kills down south, because hunger hurried them. But once their bellies were full, they took their time. They always picked does, avoiding the occasional deer that sported a rack of sharp-tined antlers. Often they used the method Lu watched that first day, but after the deer fell, they would continue to toy with her, snapping at hers legs and flanks, opening the tiniest of wounds. In this way, they would keep the doe alive and squealing for half a day before blood loss finished her."

Dan put a gentle hand on her shoulder, half expecting her to flinch at his touch. But she seemed oblivious, hypnotized; so was Drew, fascinated but seeming unafraid as he stared into her eyes. Despite his growing alarm at the turn this 'bedtime story' was taking, he was almost afraid to disturb them, like waking a sleepwalker. He looked down at her, and imagined all the skin concealed by her clothes crisscrossed with scars._ She's too small for any branch of the service. Where could it have happened? Contractor, maybe. Some of the civilian companies were a little careless about who they sent over, at first, before they realized the war wasn't really won._

"But their very favorite hunt took place in a long narrow gully, too steep for a deer to climb, with only one way out. Forage grew thick and sweet there, and once they caught a deer grazing in that constricted space. While Sharl guarded the entrance, the other two chased their quarry at an almost leisurely pace towards the end of the little valley. Halfway there, Ben stopped to take his position, catching his breath and waiting, while Ace hounded the frightened creature to the blank wet slope that marked the end of the vale. Prying her away from the wall with snapping teeth and fearsome growls, he sent her back down the valley towards the entrance. Ben would do the same as she passed to keep her running. As she approached the entrance, and perhaps felt a wisp of hope, Sharl would rise up, blocking her path with raised hackles and bared teeth, turning her back towards the blind end. Again and again they did this, never touching her, but sending her on in panic, never resting, until her flanks were lathered and her ribs were heaving. And still they goaded her on, for more than a day of terror and running, until weariness overcame her fear, and, trembling, she stopped and lay down, waiting.

"And this was the secret need that brought the brothers on their special hunt. They approached the poor creature and began their torment in earnest. 'Come, pretty one,' said Ben, 'can't you run a little farther? We're just three old wolves, and we're tired too. Freedom is so close. Just a leap away, and perhaps we won't catch you.' There was no truth in his words, for the doe was near the end of her strength, and the brothers strong and well-rested. And the voice of a wolf holds little comfort for a deer, no matter how soft and reassuring the tone. But after a while, a feeble spark of hope kindled in those soft brown eyes, and she would gather the dregs of her strength to rise to her feet and run. They ran alongside her, laughing at their sport, easily keeping up, until her strength drained away again and she stumbled to the ground.

"Twice more the entreaties of the wolves brought her to her feet for a hopeless run, and twice the doe fell. Finally, she bleated piteously, 'I can't, not again.'

"Ace snarled, 'Run! Or we'll tear you to pieces where you lie.'

"'It doesn't matter,' the doe murmured, her eyes glazing strangely. 'Do what you want with me.'

"Ben lay down beside her as if she were his mate, and said, 'Whatever we want, pretty one?' He gently closed his jaws on her throat, leaving the tiniest of marks in her trembling flesh. But the doe was too spent for any more. She knew escape was impossible, her end was at hand, and had no more will to fight for her life. She lay unmoving, with no more than a soft cry, as they began to feed on her. They were careful to tear nothing vital, keeping her alive, savoring her surrender more than her flesh, until their bellies were full. Then Sharl tore her throat out at last.

"Lu was horrified beyond words. He looked into the dead doe's eyes, and they looked no different than when the others were feasting on her living flesh. He could not bring himself to take any meat off the carcass, as if it smelled tainted."

"Annie, why didn't Lu run away? Why did he stay?"

Dan watched his son closely. _Somehow, he understands every word. More than that: instead of being frightened, he's thinking about it._

She grasped the child's hand. "He's just a kid, sport. He's big and strong, but he's alone and far from home, for the first time in his life, and he doesn't know the way back. And even if he knew the way home …"

"The other wolves won't let him tell."

"Right."

"Are they gonna make him do that? Then he won't tell. Or are they gonna kill him, too?"

"Story's not over, sport. Save the rest for another night?"

"Are you coming back?"

She glanced up at him, and his hand still lying gently on her shoulder. "That depends on your dad … and your grandpa."

"I don't want Grampa getting sick."

The girl reached up to her shoulder and laid her fingers over the hand he had resting on it. "I won't give him any girl cooties, promise. He won't end up in bed just cuz he sees me again."

His ears burned like coals. _Serves me right, for pumping him earlier._

She patted his hand. "Your dad loves Grampa too. He won't let anything bad happen to him." She drew her hand away. "The awful part's over. Hint, hint. Finish, or not?"

He looked at his watch. _It feels like I've been listening to this story for hours. Has it really been less than fifteen minutes since we tucked him in?_ "Tell it, Annie. I want to hear it, too."

She gave him a sharp glance and continued. "At last the time drew near for the party to begin the journey home. Only one day of hunting in the south remained. When the last morning dawned, Ace told Lu, 'No more watching and then eating our leavings. This time, you hunt with us.'

"'Yes,' said Sharl. 'Time to taste it while it's still warm.'

"Lu agreed, pretending eagerness, but he resolved to kill the deer instantly if he got the chance. 'Let them be as angry as they like,' he thought. 'It will be too late to find another, and we'll have to go home.' He was still afraid of the old warriors, but their game sickened him beyond all fear.

"They were hardly out of their camp before they spied a deer, a small doe. Oddly, it was not grazing in the woods or in a meadow, but standing head-up on a hilltop, looking for all the world as if it were waiting for them. It sprang away at their approach, but its flight seemed easy and measured, speeding up only when they got too close, slowing its pace to keep from getting so far ahead that they might give up the chase. Normally, deer are sprinters who can remove themselves from danger quickly, while wolves are distance runners. But the little doe ran as if it could pace them all day. It ran over open ground and avoided brushy tangled places that a deer would normally seek out to elude pursuit. It seemed to Lu almost as if the doe were leading them somewhere. Finally, Sharl said to the others as they ran, 'Something's not right. We've been chasing this one for almost half the morning, and there's not a trace of fear in her scent.'

"'And that's why we can't let it go,' Ace said angrily. 'We'll teach it to be afraid, before we kill it.'

Ben said, panting, 'By the time we do, I'll be too weary to eat.'

Then the deer spoke, its voice cheery and gay. 'Come on, old dogs, not much farther! You're not too tired, are you?' And it bounded ahead, as if they were all children playing a game, and disappeared into a thicket. The entrance narrowed as it went deeper into the brush, and the way was lined with sharp thorns that rose to arch over the path. Soon they were forced to trot two abreast, then single file. And there the doe was waiting, facing them in a place where the wolves couldn't circle behind her, and her plan was revealed.

"She stood quiet and unafraid in that narrow space and said, 'Now. Which of you fearsome killers will be the first to come to me, without your friends to help? Which of you is not afraid of a helpless little doe?'

"Ace snarled and leaped at her with his fangs bared. But her front leg flicked out, and he tumbled away with a yelp, stunned, with blood dripping from his jaw."

Drew's face lit. "Woo! Woo!"

"I don't like Ace either. Hush, now. Sharl, the largest and fiercest, tried next. He ducked and dodged, moved this way and that, trying to get close enough to get his teeth on a leg or throat. But the tiny sharp hooves were always before him, and although he took no hurt, neither could he inflict any. Ben, slowest of the three, decided not to try. 'There must be another way through all these thorns,' he said in a low voice. 'If we find it, we'll come on her from ahead and behind.'

"'This thicket is large and dense,' said Sharl. 'One of us might take all day to find a way through. We can't miss our appointed time, and I don't want to run for a night and a day on an empty belly. At least two of us should go, and strike out along both sides, so we can find the other entrance faster.'

"Lu's heart sank. There would be no chance for a quick kill against this brave little doe. From front and rear, the brothers would pin her down and make her pay for their humiliation. 'Let me guard this way,' he said, cold with fear at what he planned to do. 'The opening is wider behind her, and perhaps three may attack at once, if they're practiced at such things.'

"The brothers looked at one another and signaled their agreement. Sharl placed a paw on Lu's back. 'Do this, and you'll earn your meat today. You'll be one of us, and we'll hunt together forever.' And off they trotted, back down the thorny path.

"The doe called after them. 'Where are you going, old dogs? Are you going to your camp, to fetch back some wolves to hunt for you?' She looked upon Lu. 'And what about you, pup? Did they really leave you to hold me here?' She laughed. It was the first time Lu had heard laughter from a deer, and it was a pleasing sound, like water rushing over stones. 'Tell me, pup, have you ever even tasted meat you caught yourself?'

"'You'll be my first,' he said, and lunged, pulling back just in time to avoid being sliced by a hoof. And he lunged and backed again, not with any hope of reaching her, but because she was so pretty, dancing before him.

"'How playful you are!' She smiled with her eyes, in the way that deer do. 'Not like the others at all.' She grew serious. 'Is this your first hunt together, then?'

"'I'm here to learn to hunt from them,' he said. 'But they're not teaching me much.'

"'So you don't take part in their games?'

"An icicle formed in his heart. 'You know about them?'

"'The ground all about these woods is littered with the carcasses of half-eaten deer, some fresh, some rotting away to bones. Your friends have been coming here for a very long time.' Her eyes were no longer soft. 'The tracks around the fresh kills are plain enough to read, and the scents tell the rest. We know what they do. So, pup, do you join them in their fun? Do you share their feasts?'

"Lu stared into her eyes, and found himself compelled to abandon banter and speak his heart. 'After they've eaten their fill, I help myself to what's left. There's always plenty, but sometimes I can't bring myself to eat. The meat of a creature that… surrenders itself to death… leaves a bad taste in my mouth.'

"The doe listened carefully, and her eyes softened. 'What is your name? Tell me.' So he told her, and she told him hers, and they talked a long time about what seemed important to talk about. He told her of life in the camp, playing with his brothers and sisters and cousins under the watchful eyes of the older wolves, and she told him of her childhood in her little family, roaming the woods and meadows with her brother, of her mother's loving care and the infrequent but wonderful visits from her father."

"What was her name?"

"What?"

"The doe. What was her name?"

Annie seemed completely at a loss for a few moments. _Can't give him the real name, can you, Annie? I'd like to meet the real Ace and Ben and Sharl someday. Very much._ But then she said, "Buttercup."

Drew made a face.

"What, it doesn't sound like a name for a deer?"

"It doesn't sound like a name for _this_ deer."

She smiled and put her hand in his. "Her parents didn't know she'd turn out different when they named her." She gave him a quick glance over her shoulder and went on.

"After a time, the doe said, 'How curious our lot is! Listen to us. A stranger might think we were friends.'

"'No chance of that,' Lu said. 'I've eaten deer meat.'

"'Well, what of that?' She took a step towards him. 'Wolves can't live on grass. If you hunt for meat, you hunt to live.' She smiled. 'Who knows, I may end up in a wolf's belly someday.' He looked at her nose, black and moist, and thought how much it was like his own, and how it must catch the very same scents on the breeze. 'And when you die,' she continued, 'you'll go down into the grass, and you may end up in a deer's belly someday. It's the way of the world, as natural as the seasons.' He was surprised to see that they were only a step apart. 'Well, young wolf? So eager to prove yourself you are, so ready for your first kill. My throat is only a lunge away. Will you take me down?'

"'From where you stand,' he replied, 'you can pierce my heart with a single blow from your hoof. Will you not strike, and win your freedom?'

"'My freedom,' she said, holding him with her eyes, 'is not in your keeping.' She took a last step forward, and touched her soft nose to his own. The feeling was like nothing he had ever experienced. After a moment, she said, 'The others stink of death and fear and old blood. You smell of life and warm sunlight. Your scent makes me want to dance.'

"'And you smell of earth and sweet grass,' he said. 'It makes me want to lie down and rest with my nose in the air and my ears pricked, waiting for something. But there's another scent on you, very faint. I can't describe it. Something strange that I've never scented before.'

"She stilled, as only deer can. 'You knew I was different as soon as you met me. Didn't you?'

"Instead of answering, he drew back, and turned towards the entrance.

"'Where are you going, Lu?'

"'Come with me, if you think you can trust me.' She followed him to the entrance, and he stood aside. 'Go. Run, Buttercup. Take your freedom.'

"'I told you before, wolf child, that my freedom isn't yours to give.'

"'The others didn't give up, or go to bring back more hunters.'

"'Of course not. They're circling the thicket to find the other entrance, and resume their game.' She gazed at the wide rich lands around them. 'Why do you suppose your people don't live here, when the hunting would be so easy, and life so soft? You haven't seen any wolf spoor here but your own, so you know no other clan claims it. Why does your clan choose to abide where game is scarce, and finding enough food for all the mouths is a daily chore for all who can hunt?' She turned to him, with a strange light in her eyes. 'Your people were once hunted almost to extinction among these hills, by men.'

"'Men!' Lu had never seen any men, but he had heard of them. The older wolves spoke of them as objects of dread and danger and sudden death, creatures that walked on only two legs, standing like trees, and killed like lightning from a clear sky. One very old wolf claimed to have killed one once and eaten its flesh, but no one believed him. The other wolves smiled and shook their heads when the old greymuzzle insisted on telling the story.

"'Yes. This is a hunting preserve of a clan of men. They don't live here, but they travel here to hunt, like your uncles. The land where your people dwell is of no interest to them, and so you all are allowed to live. But if your clan were to move south and challenge men for this territory, they would be killed, to the last pup.'

"'Have you seen them? Do they really walk on two legs? Why?'

"'I have, and they do, much more gracefully than birds. They found a better use for their clever forepaws than running on them. Look at my neck, at the mark that men have left there.' And he saw a band around her neck, almost the color of her coat. His eyes had glided over it without seeing, somehow, until her words had made it real. 'The sharpest teeth cannot remove it, yet a man can take it off and put it back on with ease. They can do things which are beyond belief, and their motives are beyond comprehension. They are an altogether strange race, and the most incredible stories about them are the most likely to be true.'

"'Why do you bear their mark? What happened to you?'

"'When I was so young that I had just lost my spots, I was struck by the man-lightning, but it brought sleep instead of death. When I woke, I wore this mark. One of the men who hunt here put it on me to form a bond between us. Ever since, he knows where I am in these wide lands, even if he is far away. And when he feels the need, he can call me to him, even from so far away that no voice could possibly carry to me.' Her eyes held a faraway look. 'Two summers ago, there were more deer in these woods than anyone had ever seen. The winter had been mild, and many more of the old ones came through it than usual. Normally, you can go all day without crossing paths with another deer, but that year, you could hardly lift your head from grazing without seeing one. More deer in the spring meant more fawns in the summer, and by fall, finding forage was becoming a daylong job. By the time the snows came, there was almost nothing left to eat, and soon we were stripping the bark off the trees, killing them. And there still wasn't enough to eat. Everyone looked gaunt and sickly, and just walking in search of food became exhausting and painful. The old ones and babies started dying. But that didn't make things any easier for the rest of us, because by then there was no food anywhere, with winter's end at least a moon away. We were all going to die. Then I felt the man call me, and I followed his voice to a great store of food, enough to see us all through the worst of the winter.'

"'He found it for you?'

"'He brought it to us, from how far away I cannot guess. The food was all nourishing, but some of it was strange to us. We didn't turn our haunches on it just because it tasted strange, believe me. We ate, and grew strong again. Men took many of us that spring, and our numbers were once again as they should be.'

"'Men work a marvel to save you, just so they can kill you a few months later?'

"She shrugged with a toss of her head. 'They're meat eaters as well, Lu. It's not such a bad life. Before men came to claim this land, I'm told, starvation stalked us every winter, and wolves all the year. A deer that is taken by a wolf dies in terror, and the last thing it knows is fangs tearing into its flesh. A doe that is taken by a man dies too suddenly for fear, maybe with a mouthful of sweet grass, and the love of her last buck still warm inside her.'

"'If you don't want to die with a wolf's fangs in you, you had better go now,' said Lu. 'The others might have found the entrance by now.'

"'When they find it, we'll know,' she said. 'And those three have killed their last deer. They were lucky for a long time, not to have visited these lands at the same time that men do, but they've been coming too often lately, and their luck has finally run out.'

"A sound like distant thunder came from somewhere down the path in the thicket.

"'That would be the biggest wolf, is my guess,' she said. 'He was the swiftest, and likely would have found the other entrance first.'

"'What's happening?' He cried.

"'The hunters are now the hunted. A man is waiting in the thicket, inside the other entrance.'

"'One man against three wolves?'

"'Didn't I stand against three wolves, with no better tools than my hooves and a wall of thorns? The man has a lightning to strike a wolf dead before he's close enough to see his killer, and a different one for a wolf that gets closer, that will break him as if he'd been pitched off a cliff. And a single claw, so long and sharp it can open a wolf's belly before he feels the wound. And besides,' she said, 'there are only two wolves now.'

"A second crack of thunder echoed down the trail, then another.

"'Luis,' she said urgently, 'you're the one who has to run. Get off the trail and hide yourself. The hunter will pass this way, and after killing three wolves already, he won't see you as anything but another, even if he comes on us together. He won't see my friend, just another trespasser that needs a quick death. Find someplace dark and quiet and out of sight, and don't come out until you know it's safe. Go now!'" The girl's tone seemed more strained than storytelling required, and she had that faraway look in her eyes again.

"You changed the name." Drew was listening with his eyes closed now, but the kid was still sharp.

She blinked. "What?"

"You called the wolf Luis."

"It's the same name, sweetie. Like Robert and Bob, or Ted and Theodore."

"Or Caitlin and Kat."

"Right."

_Luis is the youngest one's name, and the other three are his uncles; a little slip Drew didn't notice. Ben is probably Benjamin, maybe Bernard; Ace could be almost anything. Sharl … Charles, maybe? Or I could be a hundred and eighty degrees off, and they all have Middle Eastern names. But I don't have any doubts about what they did to you. Who was your rescuer? Is this the strange bond between you and my father?_

"The little doe turned away without another word and slipped back into the thicket. Almost, Lu followed her, but the thought of the hunter coming upon a wolf chasing one of his deer chilled him to his bones, so he did as Buttercup told him. He found a small snow-filled hollow in a slight rise, not far off the downwind side of the trail, and burrowed into it. He covered his black nose with a paw, and looked from hiding down on the trail, waiting.

"Presently, man and doe emerged from the thicket and moved down the trail, walking side by side. The man's form was strangely difficult to see, but he moved as all the stories told, on two legs, seeming about to fall at each step. But as he walked, he rested a forepaw on Buttercup's neck, not for support, but as a gesture of affection, and possession, as Sharl had done to him. The wind brought his scent to Lu's nose, and it was a rich and heady mix of smells, as if the man were many things at once. One of them was the faint aroma he had smelled on the doe. Another, fresh and hot, was the smell of wolf's blood. The two paused for a moment at the spot where Lu had left the trail, and the man's gaze seemed to be tracing Lu's tracks to where he lay. Lu stifled a shiver of fear, and stilled his breathing. But Buttercup stepped forward, as if impatient to move on, and the man moved on with her. They passed out of sight down the trail, and he never saw her, or a man, again.

"Lu returned home to his people. It was no easy journey, because he didn't know the way, only that it was north. He taught himself to hunt along the way, and had some adventures that belong in another story. By the time he reached home, everyone had given him up for dead.

"He told the elders of the clan the whole story, but it was clear to him that even those wise old wolves had trouble believing the whole tale. But they held him blameless for the other wolves' actions, and for their deaths. Lu joined a hunting party, and became a respected member of the clan. He took a mate, and fathered many pups, and in time became an elder himself. But whenever he mentioned the time he was hunted by men, and the tiny caribou doe who befriended him and saved his life, the younger wolves smiled and shook their heads."

She touched her lips to Drew's forehead; the kid was finally out. "Sweet dreams, lion," she whispered.

"You'd be a good mother, Annie," he said as he opened the door for her.

"Thanks. If I can convince my husband he'd be a good father, we'll raise a child someday." They slipped into the hall.

As she passed, he gripped her wrist and waited for her to turn to him. When she did, her face was blank and empty of expression. _If I ask her, she'll lie; she'll pretend she doesn't know what I'm talking about._ "Annie, how does a girl who doesn't eat get so into food and cooking?" He released her as her face regained its animation … along with a touch of gratitude?

"You want the deep reason, or the simple one?"

"How about both?"

"Eight years ago, I was hiking in the Nevada desert and I got separated from my group. I was almost gone when I was rescued. So now I equate a full belly with safety, I guess. Same reason I keep a glass of water in reach, even if I only take a sip from it all night - I like to keep the tank topped off, just in case." She grinned. "The simple reason is, it's an easy way to make _other_ people happy."

He smiled back. "Okay. One more question. Annie, what are your intentions towards my father?"

Her eyebrow lifted. "I like him. I _intend_ to enjoy his company, and get to know him better. And no, going to bed with him isn't part of the plan."

"They have this saying about plans."

"I know, and I can't deny the attraction. But I'm happily married to a wonderful and sensible man, I have no intentions of straying, and your dad's a gentleman. There won't be any husbands looking for him with blood in their eyes."

"I suppose you think I'm sticking my nose in."

"I _suppose_ you love your father." She started down the hall. "Ready for some adult conversation?"

"Annie."

She stopped without turning.

"If those bastards are still alive, I'm going to make it my personal business to look them up."

She remained still as a statue for several seconds. Then her head bowed slightly. "Don't bother," she said in a low voice. "Someone beat you to it." She moved quickly down the hallway towards the living room.


	4. Orientation Lecture

He found his father sitting on the loveseat with Kat. They were turned face-to-face, talking in low voices, so close their knees and heads were nearly touching. He felt a prick of jealousy, followed immediately by an equally sharp stab of embarrassment. Annie took the easy chair, which left him to plop down on the couch all by himself. _Come on, Danny, you're not a teenager. It's no big deal._ _You've known her for three hours. If you start acting like you own her, you'll never see her again._ He thought he had himself convinced, too, right up until she stood and moved to the couch. "Are you going to sprawl all over that, or can you make some room for me?" he slid quickly to the left, and she sat just within arm's reach.

"Well." Annie picked up a glass of water from the coffee table and took a sip. "What shall we talk about?"

"I think," his father replied, leaning back against the cushions, "this would be a good time to continue a conversation Dan and I started earlier, about his new job."

Alarmed, he looked from one girl to the other. Kat seemed puzzled, but Annie was wearing an expression that likely matched his own. "Andy …" She began.

Dad looked at him. "Don't worry, son. It's not much of a secret. You know I'm a former IO employee. But so's Annie. And Caitlin has had business with them in the past. Frankly, you know less about IO than anyone else in this room.'"

"Andy," the little blonde said, her voice rising, "Is this wise?"

"Trust me, little one. It's the only way." His father gave him a very direct look while he spoke to Annie. "Sometime next week, he's going to be issued a deck of playing cards like the one he had in Iraq, only with different faces. As soon as he riffles through them, he'd realize he's been dating the Queen of Hearts, and the Queen of Diamonds is his babysitter."

The expression on Kat's face was indescribable. Her face was so pale it looked luminous. But she didn't move. "You're going to work for _them_?"

"He doesn't know, hon," Annie said. "He thinks they're some sort of counterterrorism unit. By the time he learns the truth, he'll be in too deep to get out. Like Jack. Like Andy."

He stared at his father, who'd never taken his eyes off him.

"Yes, son. These girls are two of the 'seriously nasty people' that you'll be expected to go up against."

"You're on a pickup team." Now Kat did turn to face him, putting a little more distance between them.

"_Our_ pickup team, hon."

"Anna. For, for the love of God. Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"I didn't know. Andy's first chance to tell me was tonight."

Very slowly, he said, "Will someone _please_ tell me what's going on, and stop talking as if I'm not in the room? Why would the government be after you?"

"Your new employer is an agency of the US government only by courtesy," Annie said. "It's actually a very powerful NGO with an agenda that's tangential to US interests. Caitlin is one of their pet projects. _I'm_ a member of an organization dedicated to frustrating them."

"And so am I," his dad said. To Annie's stare he said, "In for a penny, in for a pound."

Annie didn't say a thing, but her eyes shone as she gazed at his father.

Kat's were shining as well, but they were bright with tears. "Damn. The Fairchild luck is running true. Dammit." He firmly checked any impulse to try comforting her as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Well, what are we supposed to do now?"

"Show him why they want you, hon."

"How?"

"Throw a horseshoe?" His dad suggested. "Like you mean it?"

She shook her head. "Where, into the ocean?"

He felt his brows gather. "What are you talking about? The ocean's twenty miles away."

She looked at Annie. "There are a jillion air bases around here. It might show up on radar. Or I might hit a plane. Wouldn't _that _make a great headline in the Weekly World News."

"It's after sundown anyway," Annie said. "It would just disappear into the dark. Not very impressive."

"I have an idea." She went out into the back yard and returned with a horseshoe. She offered it to him. "It's real, right? Not rubber or lead or anything. Try to bend it."

He grasped the ends and pulled. He may as well have tried to bend a crowbar. She reached for it, and he handed it to her. "It's real."

She twisted it into a knot, as easily as tying a shoelace, and presented it to him. "Careful, it's kind of hot."

He took it back, amazed. It was quite warm, almost uncomfortably so. He tried to straighten it; it wouldn't budge. She took it once again and straightened it effortlessly into a rather crooked bar a foot long. She gave it back. This time it was almost too hot to hold.

She turned her shoulder to him. "Hit me. Hard as you dare."

"I can't do that."

"You can't hurt me. Go ahead, do it."

He swung it into her shoulder, hard enough to feel but not enough to hurt. It rebounded silently. "What the hell!" It felt as if he'd struck a concrete pillar.

"You could do that all day and I wouldn't feel it. You could shoot a _gun_ at me, and the bullet would bounce." She lifted her arm, and presented her bicep. "Squeeze."

He circled her upper arm with his hand and gave a squeeze; her arm was marble. "You've got a _hell_ of a workout program, Kat."

"Ha, ha. Come to the kitchen." In the kitchen, she squatted in front of the refrigerator, got a hand under each side, and stood up with it in her arms, no more trouble than picking up a shoebox. Glass clinked inside as she tipped it slightly. "Oops. Hope I didn't spill anything." She set it back down and stood up. She presented her arm again. "Squeeze."

This time it felt as you'd expect: warm, smooth, taut but soft. Even under the present circumstances, the feel of her under his hand fired his imagination. "I can turn it on and off most of the time," she said. "Except when I'm throwing horseshoes, seems like."

He remembered the bent stakes. "Jeez. How?"

She shrugged. "I can't explain it. It's like learning to whistle or ride a bike. You can't do it until suddenly you _can_. It happened two years ago. I was a late bloomer; it usually happens at puberty."

"No. I mean, why _you_?"

"Oh." She took a breath. "I'm a mutant."

"Uh huh." He kept his voice carefully neutral.

"Not a natural one. My father was an IO trooper, like yours. They used him for a guinea pig, without his knowledge or consent. Some of what they did to him affected his DNA. Then he had me. IO wants me for a guinea pig, too. They had me for a while, but I got away, with some help. Now you know why I try to live a quiet life, and don't meet many people. And why you'll never see my face on a billboard."

"What are you two doing in there?" His dad called.

"Necking," he called back.

"Well, make yourselves presentable and come out here. We've got some talking to do."

When they were seated a yard apart on the couch, his dad said, "First off, let's make sure everyone knows why you hired on at IO without a clear picture of what you'd be doing. Bad as you can use the money, it wasn't for the paycheck. What did they _really_ offer you?"

He looked from one of their faces to another. The girls' were open, curious; but his father's was intent, expectant, the face of a trial lawyer questioning a witness, sure of the answer before he asks. Nothing less than the truth would serve. Looking at him, he said, "They offered me … a chance to make a difference." It sounded naïve in his own ears.

But his father nodded. "The same thing they offered me. Only, my war of disillusionment was Vietnam. They're always looking for people like us, son. They wait for us at the ends of our hitches like pimps at the bus terminal, looking for runaways to turn. They know what we've been through, and what we want. They hint that not _everybody_ in government is blind to what's going on, or too short-sighted to care. That there are people really _working _on the problems, and not throwing away solutions out of hand because they're politically risky. People who are willing to make the hard decisions and do what it takes to get the job done."

He let out a breath. "Almost word for word."

"Yeah. Assholes like that don't change their speeches, once they find one that works. They talk you into pledging your allegiance, and by the time you start to wonder if the difference you're making is a good one, you're in kind of deep to back out." His father looked at Caitlin. "He didn't join IO to rule the world. He just got tired of trying to save it, only to have his every effort sabotaged. Someone offered him the opportunity to cut out the cancer, instead of giving the patient placebos. More, they offered to put the knife in his hand and show him exactly where to cut." He turned back to him. "How many times did the recruiter use the term 'direct action'?"

"Uh, quite a few."

"Sounded good, didn't it?"

Dan looked at the girls. "Come on, Dad. What do you want to say to me?"

"There's this thing about direct action, son. It's seductive. If you're successful at it, eventually it becomes your preferred method of fixing a problem, instead of your last resort. Once that happens, you start looking everywhere for problems to fix. I'm not talking about you, I mean the people who'll arm you and launch you at a target. Before long, they've got you killing someone because they don't like his politics, or just because he's in the way. Or to teach a lesson to somebody else. Or any fucking reason at all."

He nodded towards Caitlin. "The sweet young girl sharing your couch is a victim of that policy. She was also intended to be one of its instruments. She told you about the Project?"

"She said they had her for a while, but she got away. I didn't understand it."

"You've seen her talent. They wanted her to work for them, to kill people for them. They figured she wouldn't want to do it. They were going to make her do it anyway." His father turned to her, expectant. "Well, Caitlin? Care to describe what sort of _solutions_ IO comes up with when it sees a problem? And, when they make a 'hard' decision, who it's hard on?"

She looked at Annie. "I'm not ready for this." Her voice turned desperate. "I wasn't even supposed to _be_ here."

"Neither was he." Dad's voice was stern and matter-of-fact. "Caitlin, he goes in for orientation Monday. They're going to spend a week convincing him it's his duty and a moral obligation to find you and drag you back to the Project, willing or no. Believe me, they can be very persuasive. You'll want to immunize him with the truth, if you can."

Annie looked at her, eyes grave. "I know. I haven't forgotten what you were all like when you came to me, after Jack broke you out. How you couldn't look in the hall mirror for weeks. How Roxanne pleaded with someone every night in her dreams, and woke up terrified if her room was dark. Sarah's invisible wall, her fear of getting close to anyone. The way easygoing Eddie practiced his martial arts moves every morning, as if IO might be coming through the door any time, and they weren't taking him back without a fight. It left its mark on all of you. I'm asking anyway. Hon, please."

The girl stared at her hands in her lap, managing somehow to look small. The silence stretched.

"You know, it wasn't bad at first. Nice, actually." Kat wrung her hands. "Oh, hell... It was a dream come true.

"I was coming home at the end of my freshman year at Rutherford. It didn't look like I was going back. The money just wasn't there. I had a stack of grants: three hundred here, a thousand there, another grand from somewhere else. Altogether, it didn't come close to paying for tuition, books, lab fees, student fees, housing, groceries… I was waiting tables to help make up the difference and falling asleep over my books every night. I was four-oh, but so were a lot of kids in that school. My aunt and uncle were trying to put Karen and me through college at the same time, without student loans or aid, and it was crushing them. Something had to give.

"I'd talked about it with Karen. She wanted to quit school and get a job, so I could keep going. She said I was the one who could get the most out of college. She was older, but we were both freshmen, because I'd graduated high school two years early, and I was attending college at sixteen. But I couldn't let her do it. My aunt and uncle never played favorites with the two of us, but I wasn't about to take their daughter's place in college, even if they were all willing."

She looked up. "Then I hit the jackpot. As soon as I came through the door, Uncle Nathan was showing me a brochure. He said some guy had been by, looking for me. The man had said he represented a charter school for gifted kids, and was offering me a chance at a free ride. He'd left the brochure and a number to call if I had more questions, or if I wanted to start the application process.

"We all looked the brochure over together. It looked _way_ too good to be true. The Darwin Academy was a privately funded school, the brainchild of some dot-com billionaire who'd cashed out before the collapse and decided to do something worthwhile with the mountain of cash he'd made. Darwin's Board of Trustees had a network of teachers in schools all over the country, who recommended kids aged fourteen to twenty-one for their program. Enrollment was by invitation only, based on a complex point system, heavily weighted towards academic excellence but not limited to it. The idea was to train up the next generation of up-and-comers to peak performance and teach them teamwork and cooperation, all in the interest of making a better future." She smiled ruefully and shook her head. "The whole concept was so outrageous, it _had_ to be true. And I wanted it _so_ bad.

"The brochure listed the teachers and their credentials: they sounded top-notch. And the school quoted endorsements from people with serious scientific stature, including a Nobel laureate. Photos of the labs and classrooms showed facilities that were state of the art. You could almost smell the new paint through the pictures.

"Looking back on it, there were things that should have been suspicious, starting with that brochure. Those pictures should have been the first thing to trip my alarms. Something was missing that I didn't see until it was way too late. I've seen plenty of those recruiting brochures, and they all follow the same format. They've all got stock shots of teachers lecturing a class, kids loafing around outside between classes, a bunch of students in lab, another bunch doing something extracurricular. There was none of that. In the photos, the facilities were beautiful, but the classrooms were all empty. And the pictures of the grounds showed these beautiful woods and parklands, but no buildings, not even sculpture. You saw pictures of the teachers, with their wonderful credentials, but their pictures were done in a studio. My nose should have twitched, at least. But I was blinded by the promises.

"It claimed the Academy graduated its first class in ninety-nine. We checked it out online, and the place looked solid, even if information on it was a little sparse. It had a website, but it didn't offer any more information than the brochure; even the pictures were the same.

"We decided to use the phone number. We got a voice mail box, left a message, and got a return call an hour later. The rep was willing to come right over and explain everything.

"We talked at the kitchen table for five hours. This guy, Mr. Gierling, he was _good_. He was never stuck for an answer, and he never told us a thing we weren't eager to hear. We asked about tuition. He said it didn't matter, because all Darwin students had a full academic scholarship, a one hundred percent free ride. All housing was on-campus, and room and board were part of the ride. _Everything_ was included: transportation to and from the school, books and school supplies, school uniforms. Complete medical care. Everything, right down to shampoo and toothbrushes. He even offered me a stipend, 'to help keep my mind focused on my studies,' he said.

"The syllabus was out of this world, with no fluff courses. The Academy picked the curriculum the first year; one of the stipulations of the eccentric who'd provided the funding. The whole teaching program was odd, but the geniuses who'd endorsed it said it was an elite school, and its methods were as effective as they were revolutionary." She wound down, seemingly lost in thought or memory.

"The geniuses who'd endorsed the school were talentless hacks, IO stooges," Anna said quietly. "IO fed them a little proscribed research, enough to stun their colleagues. The only articles they ever published were the work of other men behind barbed wire at IO's Research Directorate."

"I didn't think about it for long," Kat continued. "Even if it hadn't sounded tailor-made for me, I really didn't have anywhere else to go. And the stipend would get Karen through school, too. I agreed to apply.

"He arranged to have me take the entrance exam the very next day. I was starting to wonder if the guy worked on commission. He never rushed us into making any decisions, which would have made us suspicious, I think. But he stayed close, and once you made the decision he was looking for, he didn't leave any time for second thoughts.

"The entrance exam made the one for Rutherford look like a pop quiz. I took it in a hotel room, with Mr. Gierling timing me on each section. I spent the whole day over it, with just a couple breaks. It was exhausting. Again, it would have been a dandy time to be suspicious; some of the questions were _very _strange. They seemed better suited to a psych exam than an academic one. I even asked the rep about it, on one of the breaks. He told me those questions were for purposes of placement, picking my team mates. Kids at Darwin worked mostly in small groups selected for compatibility.

"Once again, he was telling me exactly what I wanted to hear. I'd been the geeky outsider in school all my life. It's hard to make friends when you're the teacher's pet who's driving up the curve. And kids can be incredibly cruel to someone who's the least bit different. There were times I wondered how I'd got through junior high and high school alive. I'd spent a few afternoons crying on Aunt Joyce's shoulder." She shook her head, sending flashes of coppery highlights at him that made him think of running his hands through silk, and stopped his breath. "Popularity completely eluded me in high school, along with puberty. My senior year, I still looked like a twelve-year-old. The only guys who showed even a passing interest in me were ones who thought I might be desperate enough to be an easy lay."

"Hon, I'm sure that's not true."

She shook her head. "Didn't matter. That's how I felt, like a deer in a forest infested with wolves. I never dated, never struck up a conversation with a guy that didn't involve school. I kept my nose in my books and put up with the treatment from the other girls, and just stayed under the radar. When I graduated, I bet there weren't thirty kids who knew my first name." She shrugged, and he had to look away to keep from feeling like a lecher. Seeing her discomfort as she relived her experience made him want to take her in his arms and comfort her.

"Rutherford was better in some ways, worse in others. Being an outsider wasn't as singular an experience. Half the students wouldn't even speak to the other half. I got the clear impression that I was there on sufferance, because the school needed a few middle-class brainy females for 'diversity.' A lot of the old-money girls liked to come into the restaurant where I worked so I could serve them, just to remind me, you know? I overheard a couple saying it was a shame the school couldn't find more black females who could pass the exam, so the school could meet all its quotas without admitting so much riffraff." Her lip twitched. "So the idea of being in a class where we were all geeks together sounded like heaven.

"The exam was graded and the app was approved by next day; the rep told me I was enrolled and expected at school ASAP. By this time, I'd have been surprised if it had gone any other way. It seemed like Darwin Academy was made just for me." She shook her head. "Huh. Little did I know.

"Mr. Gierling delivered the letter of acceptance himself, along with a thick school handbook and a list of things to pack and not pack. I was surprised to see that we had a strict baggage allowance. According to the rep, the school provided so much for the students that a lot of personal gear would end up being clutter. And school administration wanted to minimize class differences among the students by limiting the bling and status symbols they'd be bringing with them. After a year of watching half the girls in school flashing their Prada bags, it sounded like a good idea. We were warned to leave our cell phones at home; the school was in a secluded setting, and out of range of any towers. Likewise personal computers; the whole campus was Wi-fi, and we'd each be issued a laptop in lieu of textbooks, but the setup was proprietary and other rigs wouldn't work on it. That sounded a little odd to a computer geek like me, but the hook was already sunk deep. I packed my little bag, feeling like a kid on holiday. Early next morning, I kissed Karen and Aunt Joyce and Uncle Nathan goodbye and boarded a plane with the school rep, headed for Duluth." She took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "That was almost three years ago. I haven't seen them since."

"Darling, I'm sorry. It's still just too dangerous."

"I know. It's like Eddie said. I wouldn't bring this trouble home to them. But I still miss them, and I can't imagine what they think I'm doing. I worry that IO might lose patience and grab Karen someday, just to see if she knows something."

"Jack has people watching for that. If it happens, we'll go after her."

"And if IO ever figures that out, they'll do it. Won't they?"

"That's why Jack's surveillance is discreet. And why your family can't know where you are."

"Or even whether I'm dead or alive." She stared at her knees. "I get it. I do."

"Caitlin," his dad pressed. "Tell us about the school."

"Well." She took a breath. "It hit home, what the handbook had meant by 'seclusion', on the trip from Duluth. It was a charter flight, a little six-passenger plane carrying just me and Mr. Gierling. We crossed three states, and I hardly saw anything but trees and water below me the whole time. Once I saw a small airstrip, with a couple of roads leading away from it and disappearing into the trees. That was it. We were told the school was in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, about twenty miles from the Wisconsin line. Somewhere near the eastern shore of Lake Gogebic, not that any of us ever saw it. Turned out we'd been misled by a couple hundred miles. We all came in by air, to another small airstrip a short drive from the school. There were a few roads, but we didn't know where they led. We didn't know which direction anything was. We could have been in Canada for all we knew.

"The next surprise came when we pulled into the parking lot at the school, and the only building in sight was a concrete structure the size of a farmhouse. That was when I found out just how 'eccentric' the founder was. He was a 'green' freak, and he'd had the school built to minimize its impact on the environment and conserve energy. On the surface, the property was a big park for the students' use, with hiking and running trails and athletic fields. But all the classrooms and dorms were ten feet underground."

"Contained and out of sight," his father said. "Clever."

"The whole place was like that: exactly as advertised, but you kept finding things they left out. It was all in the student handbook – the one I wasn't given time to read before we left. The explanations were always plausible; it's just that they had to make so many of them.

"Our dorms only had eight rooms each. The kids in my dorm were the kids I took classes with every day, just the five of us. We were a strange bunch, but we got along and learned together. None of us was really old enough for college – heck, Roxy was barely old enough for high school – but they fed us college courses, tough ones, and we ate them like candy. The men who made up the compatibility tests knew their stuff, academically anyway. We had a lot of group projects, and we learned to work together. We only saw the other ninety students socially.

"About that. I didn't understand why the school had made such a big deal out of compatibility. It seemed like they could have thrown me in with any of the kids in school, and we'd have got along. We were all way ahead of the curve, even the jocks, and we all knew how it felt to be treated differently. We were all there for the same thing. There were plenty of small social groups, but they could hardly be called cliques. They were very fluid and casual, easy to enter or leave. Our differences seemed trivial compared to our commonalities. After Rutherford, life in the student body at Darwin was a social revolution, and heaven on earth.

"Darwin's rules about social interaction were surprisingly liberal, especially considering how many of us were underage. There was no bed check, at least at first, and the school didn't seem to care where you slept as long as you weren't late to class in the morning. Whether you were a boy or girl, a word to Ivery got condoms delivered to your room in the morning along with your toothpaste and shampoo. Not that a lot of us took advantage; it was just the idea. Some of the kids were Christians from conservative families, but if they wrote home about what was going on, they'd get back... an uncharacteristically tolerant reply. No kid ever got pulled out of Darwin.

"The instructors were geniuses, and gifted teachers. They pushed us harder than I'd ever been, and made it seem easier than when I was struggling at Rutherford. They always knew when you were having the least bit of trouble, and got you through it as easy as helping you cross the street."

His father leaned forward. "Who was running the place?"

"It seemed to run itself. Administration kept so far in the background, it was hardly there. We got a welcome speech from the school administrator, and he put in TV appearances at commons. All our face time with school management came from the employees: cafeteria, housekeeping, teachers, but especially Doctor Ivery in Medical… and Matt and Nicole."

She looked at the two men. "I know I'm not making this place sound like a prison. They weren't done setting us up. There was no phone contact with the outside world, but we were still talking freely by e-mail. Except it wasn't really free, not at all. I'm sure now they monitored it all, carefully editing the messages while they learned how to mimic our attitudes and writing styles. I don't know for sure when the messages from home stopped being real; I just gradually noticed that my folks were seeming more and more impersonal and generic, out of step with the stuff I was sending them. I can only imagine what they were really sending me, and what the replies they got were like. Replies they're still getting, maybe. How do they explain why I never come home?" Her lower lip trembled, and her face flushed as her eyes grew shiny. She stood abruptly. "Scuse." She rushed down the hall.

He glanced at his dad; the poker face was firmly in place. Annie was looking down the hall after Kat. "Worst is yet to come, Force Recon. If we can get it out of her." She got up and followed.

He looked at his father. "How much do you know?"

"If we can coax the whole story out of her, I'll learn some things, and you'll know as much about the Genesis Project as I do. A week from now, you'll know more."

"Then why?"

"Why did I turn against the hand that's been feeding me and putting my kids through school?" He looked at his knees. "Genesis isn't the only sick hobby IO's got. Seeing the results of another one is what forced my break with them."

"What's your connection with this girl? Annie, I mean. Coworker? Someone you helped?"

The old man's eyes met his. "No. She was one of my victims."

His ears rang. "You didn't have anything to do with that. You couldn't."

His father blinked. "You know about it?"

"I know she was tortured by three assholes I'll kill if I meet. I'm sure you weren't one of them."

The old man's shoulders slumped. "No. But I watched it happen. I didn't know how bad it was for her, and I thought there was a good reason for it. I didn't really know her then. She was just…"

Kat came back, with Annie right behind. They resumed their seats. But this time, he felt fingers lace through his. "Where were we?"

"You were talking about how they kept you isolated and under control, and what the place was like before you found out the truth."

"The e-mail," Anna coaxed. "The impersonal tone wasn't just clumsy scripting, darling. It was part of the conditioning process, to isolate you emotionally and make you dependent on the authorities at school."

"Right. I figured that out later. Anyway. Cell phones didn't work there, they'd told us. A couple kids had brought theirs anyway, and they never got a signal, just like they'd been warned. But one kid had a sat phone, and it should have got a signal anywhere. The school's computer network was sophisticated enough to transmit voice and picture messages, I was sure, but it wasn't equipped for it. I never heard my family's voices from the time I left for the Academy.

"The grounds topside were beautiful, a big park in the middle of a trackless wilderness. Again, alarms should have tripped; the trails didn't look ten years old. They'd felled trees to clear some of the paths; the trees were still green. Well, a couple of kids left the path and did some hiking through the brush. A hundred yards from the trail, they found the fence. Fences, rather. A triple row, with ten feet between each. The inner and outer ones were ten feet tall; the middle one was fourteen, with 'DANGER – HIGH VOLTAGE' signs every six feet. Matt told us the fences were to protect us from the wildlife: there were bears and wolves in the woods, and smaller predators you wouldn't want to run across."

"Okay, I've heard that name before. Who's Matt?"

"Officially, he was our Phys Ed instructor, early twenties maybe, and every girl in school was crushing on him. Short blond hair, light blue eyes. Body like a Greek statue. Beautiful. He was pleasant, but impersonal. He was young enough to date some of the older girls, but he didn't show the slightest interest. He talked a lot with Nicole, naturally. But the only girl student anyone saw him share more than five minutes' conversation with was Sarah. That raised a few chuckles."

"Why's that?"

"She's gay."

"Ah."

"He took his job seriously and pushed us hard. He consulted with Dr. Ivery, and worked up individual routines for us, and the Doctor would give him feedback based on our weekly physicals. We went to bed tired on PE days. He also served as the Dean of Men, straightening out little problems for the guys and acting as go-between for school administration.

"Nicole was the distaff side of the team, sort of. Also beautiful. Shoulder-length black hair, violet eyes. She was the guidance counselor and Dean of Women. She was one of those people you feel you can talk to like an old friend the moment you meet her, and we all talked to her plenty. About everything, not just career paths and aptitude tests. We tried to guess what sort of finishing school she'd attended, to make her so poised and capable. The girls, that is. Guys just wondered what she looked like under the coverall."

"Coverall?"

"Oh. For a school uniform, we wore coveralls in a couple shades of blue. They had a futuristic looking patch on the shoulder, and our names above the right breast pocket. Made us feel like astronauts in training." She gave them a crooked smile. "At the end, it was all the clothes I had that fit." She looked blankly at the wall.

"I'd got there in the middle of June; Darwin scheduled classes year round, with lengthy breaks at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. After five months away from home and only talking by e-mail, most of us were ready for some time away from school. Things were sounding more than a little weird at home by then, and I felt a real need to show my face to my family.

"One evening about a week before classes were supposed to let out, one of the kids came rushing down the halls, shouting that we were at war. The common room had a big flatscreen that got nothing but news and educational channels, and when I went there, it was wall-to-wall with kids watching CNN.

"It was like he'd said, sort of. It was a terrorist campaign, big enough to make Nine-Eleven look like a school play. There had been a hundred attacks all over the country, thousands of casualties. And the terrorists were targeting schools. Specifically prestigious institutes of higher learning: tech schools, Ivy League colleges, places where America's elite sent their kids and where the next crop of leaders was being educated. I saw a clip of Rutherford, my old school. Byerson Hall was a smoking hole in the ground. A couple other kids had been to college before Darwin, and their old schools had been attacked, too.

"About then, the screen blanked, and the school administrator, Mr. Hardesty, came on. He told us that Darwin was certainly on the terrorists' list, but our remote underground location was probably posing a special challenge for them. He announced that the Board of Directors had authorized him to take whatever steps were necessary to ensure our safety. He was starting by canceling the Thanksgiving break; air travel was being sharply restricted by Homeland Security anyway, and we'd only get stranded at some airport. We were safest right in school, he said, and he was hiring a security firm to augment the campus police. Then he told us that there would have to be changes to the school rules, for security's sake, and he'd tell us more about that later, through announcements and postings. He said not to worry, we were in good hands, and we'd be reunited with our families as soon as Homeland Security announced that the emergency was over. Every one of us already had an e-mail from home in our inboxes, urging us to stay put and let the school keep us safe." She stopped.

Andy shook his head. "All of it faked to keep you in school."

"Yes. And to keep us compliant and unsuspecting as they tightened security, preparing for their next move.

"Suddenly we had a lot of restrictions on our movements. The door to the surface was locked, and we had to be in our own rooms by lights out. We had to be accounted for everywhere we went. The new guard force was scary, all Secret Service types with automatic weapons, and they were everywhere. The only places we were guaranteed privacy was in the bathrooms and our bedrooms. Matt and Nicole said it was to prevent infiltration, which was our biggest danger. Of course, I know now that we were being watched so closely for the same reason we got weekly physicals: they were waiting for us to start manifesting our powers."

He gave her hand a squeeze. It was unbelievable how desirable she looked, and how sad. The urge to take her in his arms and take the hurt away would have been irresistible if they'd been alone.

"We spent a miserable Christmas underground. Darwin was like a fallout shelter after a nuclear war; the outside world was a fading memory. The news was too scary to watch, and our e-mails from home sounded like messages from strangers; we were sure everything that reached us was heavily censored. Armed men were watching our every move and we had to clear it with someone whenever we went to a common restroom. It was getting all of us down. Schoolwork was even starting to suffer, despite being our best distraction. Mr. Hardesty's urgings to act normally and keep our chins up weren't working anymore. Then, about the middle of January, the people watching us got the warning they were looking for. I started to change.

"At first, I thought the laundry had shrunk my clothes: my coveralls didn't cover my wrists or my ankles any more. Then my shoes started pinching my feet. My appetite went crazy; I couldn't seem to fill up. I got scared, thinking it was a pituitary problem. But I didn't mention it at my weekly physical, because I wasn't completely sure. Dr. Ivery didn't mention it either, but he seemed to examine me a little more thoroughly than usual. He drew blood as well as the weekly urine, and he had me strip down to bra and panties for the first time since my initial physical.

"It went on like that for three weeks, with me drawing new coveralls every week, guy sizes now, and going back to the chow line for seconds at every meal. Then…" She glanced down. "These popped out, almost overnight, and I couldn't zip my coverall past them. It was the last straw. I asked Dr. Ivery what was wrong with me, and he said he'd noticed and run tests and everything was fine. He said that a small percentage of late teens went through an extra growth spurt, a sort of second puberty, and that's all that was happening to me. He asked a lot of questions about what I'd noticed and how I was dealing with the change. He told me he wanted to see me twice a week for a while, until my metabolism leveled out.

"At my next meal, the servers gave me two trays right away. And the next time I drew coveralls, they were tailored, and fit me better than they had when I was a beanpole. Matt spent more time with me, and set up three extra PE sessions a week, all weight training. The extra attention made me a lot more comfortable about what was happening to me, and I felt like everything was under control, for a while.

"But it didn't _stop_; by the end of February I was towering over the other kids, and still growing. They quit joking about it with me, and just watched. I got scared again." She stopped and looked down. The silence stretched.

"Hon?"

"I'm s-sorry. I don't even want to remember this, ever. I don't know how I can tell it."

He wasn't sure he was ready to hear it, either. He thought about Annie and her ordeal. He looked from one girl to another, and saw the pity in Annie's eyes. _After what she's gone through, what sort of story from Kat could put that look on her face?_

Annie got up and put her arms around her shoulders. "I'm sorry I asked. If you can't, you can't. It's all right."

"No." Kat patted Annie's forearm, but she was looking at him. "I'm not going to leave Dan to them unprepared. I just didn't know how to go on.

"When something catastrophic happens at a nuclear plant, they call it an 'event.' Well, at the end of February, there was an 'event' at Darwin, something that took the focus off me, at least for a day. It happened in the canteen at lunch. One of my teammates, Bobby, was sharing a table with me and Sarah and my sister Roxy. He was arguing with Sarah, nothing unusual, but something she said touched a nerve, and he was getting hot. I mean, _really_ hot. His face flushed, and he gripped his pop bottle like he was ready to crush it. Suddenly, his drink went _foosh_, and a fountain of Coke shot out of the top, steaming hot. The bottle jumped out of his hand and went rocketing across the table. Roxy got soaked.

"We figured it was a sick and clever practical joke, but we couldn't figure how it was done. The bottle had come from the same vending machine as everyone else's, and it had been cold when he drew it out. It went from ice-cold to boiling in just a second or two. There was nothing in the bottle or under the table that could have heated it up. It was a puzzle that had everyone talking, but no one came up with a theory that made sense.

"That wasn't the end of the weirdness, though. I said I'd been getting PE every day. I never realized how out of shape I was when I'd first come to Darwin; not dumpy, but skinny and weak. At my first session in June, I couldn't do a chin-up. Really. I'd worked my way up to a solid twenty over the summer, and started lifting weights too, and actually started enjoying exercise. My size and weight gain didn't seem to affect my ability one way or another; by March first, I was still doing twenty chin-ups as part of my routine.

"Only, that day, as I drew my chin to the bar, I was mulling over the incident at lunch, still trying to figure it out, and I suddenly realized I'd done more than twenty chin-ups. _Way_ more. I'd been at it for ten minutes, and wasn't even tired. It felt as if I just floated up to the bar. I dropped down, and Matt was looking at me in a way he never had when I'd come to PE an inch taller than the time before.

"He told me he wanted me to work out with a different set of free weights today. A set that was in staff quarters. I got a little nervous at that; students didn't go to staff quarters, not ever. But he said it was OK, just this once, as long as I was with him.

"The entrance to staff quarters was strange. We passed through the doors marked 'AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' and we were in a long bare hall. All that broke it up were the doors at the far end, and a huge pair of mirrors on opposite sides of the hall. They were staggered, the closest one on the left, and the far one on the right. Matt had a little walkie-talkie, and he spoke into it to someone, to say that he was bringing me through. It was like I was passing in or out of a military base… or a prison. That's when I was suddenly sure the 'emergency' wasn't a surprise to _everyone_ at Darwin, because I realized the hall mirrors probably had men with guns behind them, and they'd been arranged for clear fields of fire.

"But I kept quiet and played dumb and followed him through the second set of doors when they buzzed open. Staff quarters was a step up from student accommodations, but not super luxurious. About what you'd expect. What I didn't expect was how _big_ the place was. It seemed roomy enough for the regular staff and all the extra security with plenty of room to spare. Again, my alarm bells rang. It was too late, but I didn't know that.

"We came to a workout room, bigger than the one at school, and differently equipped. He pointed me to the most massive weight bench I'd ever seen; it looked like it would support a car. The weight stand was built the same way, and the free weights were weird, a sort of pale gold color, and unmarked. 'These are mine,' he said. 'Custom made. Give them a try.' He put a pair of the smallest weights on the bench press bar, hardly bigger than Frisbees, and had me try it.

"It was the strangest thing. The first time I tried, it was as if the bar was bolted to the rest. I couldn't budge it. 'You can do this,' he said. 'You just need the right attitude.'

"So I tried it again, and somehow I got it off the rest - and straight down onto my chest. It nearly crushed me before Matt got his hand under the bar, just barely holding it off me with one hand and never mind that that hand was smooshed between my breasts. 'Try harder,' he said. 'Reach inside yourself and find the strength.' I tried to imagine the bar was light as a toothpick, and it seemed to help. I pushed it off my chest and extended it. 'Again,' he said, and I did, and it was _easier_ the second time. The third time seemed almost effortless. He kept adding weights to the bar, and it didn't seem to make any difference. The bench creaked underneath me as I lifted a bar bent with discs, and it was like pushing up a broom handle. 'Looks like you've broken your plateau,' he said, and offered me a glass of water. I downed it in one go, I was so nervous.

"We sat side by side on the bench and talked. I asked him how what I'd done was possible. He told me it happened sometimes with natural athletes, and told a story about a man who'd discovered unbelievable athletic ability in his forties. Then he looked at his watch and said, 'Time to go.' Which seemed odd, since PE was my last class of the day, but I thought maybe he had another appointment.

"I felt a little wobbly when I stood, but I figured that was from the workout. But it got worse as we walked back towards the front door. Then he made a turn I didn't remember. 'Where are we going?' I said. My voice sounded funny, I thought.

"'Shortcut,' he said, and put my arm over his neck. 'You don't look so good. I think we'd better see the doctor.' I blacked out as we were shuffling down the hall.

"I woke up lying on a bare mattress on the floor, wearing nothing but a metal collar. I knew that right away, because I was lying on my back, and the ceiling was a big mirror."

She paused. Then she reached for her water glass and almost tipped it over. She took a cautious sip, looking down at the table, avoiding everyone's eyes. "It was a cell, of course. About twenty feet square, with a mattress, a seatless toilet, and no visible door. The walls were mirrors too, everything but the floor. No one answered my calls.

"After a while, a slot near my bed opened, and a meal tray slid through. Whoever was pushing it through didn't feel like talking. The trays and the food were different from what we'd been served in the school cafeteria, unidentifiable pastes and patties, flavorless stuff. I scooped it out of the divider trays with my fingers, because they never gave me even a spoon. I don't think the meals came at regular intervals either. Sometimes it seemed most of a day between, and then they'd slide another tray through while my stomach was still gurgling from the last one.

"The collar was some electronic gadget they put on me to keep me confused and submissive. I felt drugged, disconnected. My hand-eye coordination was unreliable, and I fell down sometimes. I think it messed with my sense of reality, too. I looked at the floor a lot, because the infinite reflections scared me. I hadn't even got used to my image in the bathroom mirror, and now I was surrounded by these endless creepy alter egos copying my every move, fading away into infinity everywhere I looked. I started imagining they were real people, watching me from a hidden room behind the glass. I remember sitting on my mattress, talking to myself – I think – and looking up and seeing the image on the wall looking at me as if she was about to cry. She seemed like a sympathetic listener. I held long some long conversations with her, both of us sitting on our mattresses with our knees drawn up to our chins. When I caught myself trying to reach for her hand through the glass, I sort of freaked out and started beating on the walls with my eyes closed. I think I screamed, too. I remember kicking one of the trays back through the slot as it was being pushed in, and hoping I took out someone's teeth. I lost track of things for a while, but I think that phase lasted a couple days. Or maybe just a couple hours. Then I got _really_ angry, because my head cleared enough to finally realize that the mirrors were one-way, and there really _were_ people on the other side of the glass, watching me.

"I throttled down after that, and stopped acting out, and started thinking. I was still angry, angry as a cornered rat, but I needed to figure why I was here, who I was up against, and whether I had any options. Rescue seemed unlikely; knowing that Matt was part of the conspiracy argued against anyone looking for me. The cell I was in, the restraint I was wearing, and the feeding routine all spoke of careful planning and bad objectives. That was when I started wondering why I'd been invited to the party. The only dot to connect was my physical change, and my new ability to handle heavy objects. That odd weightlifting set had sort of tickled my mind, until it came to me that depleted uranium weighs about two and a half times as much as steel, and when it's made into objects intended for handling, they're often coated with titanium nitride, which gives it a gold color. I did some rough calculations: the first time I pressed that set, I was pushing almost two hundred and fifty pounds, and by the time he ran out of weight to load on the bar, I was bench pressing over eight hundred without raising a sweat. That weight set represented about fifty times the amount of depleted uranium that individuals can legally own, but I was sure now that the folks who ran Darwin were no respecters of other people's rules."

He looked at his father, and found the old man's eyes already on him, watching. _Yes, Dad, I'm getting it. But it's already too late to back out. If I suddenly change my mind before I even find out what I'm supposed to be doing, they'll want to know why, and they might find out about the girls._

"I tried to recall that weird strength, hoping to use it to break out. But I couldn't do it. Sometimes it felt like it was just out of reach, and I'd get dizzy and sick and start hallucinating, thinking my arms and legs weren't where they were supposed to be, or that there was a second Caitlin Fairchild in my room, as if one had stepped through the glass like Alice to join me. I wasn't eating their food anymore, so I was fairly sure the collar was doing it, but I couldn't find a way to get it off. I darn near tore my ears off trying. If I gripped it for more than a few seconds, my fingers started to go numb." She huffed, looking at the floor. "I finally tried shorting it out by sticking my head in the toilet. I suppose my observers might have thought I was trying to do myself in. That was when I found out the collar could induce unconsciousness, too. I woke up on my mattress with my hair soaking wet, and the room changing colors and spinning so hard I could hardly get off it. Guess they turned up the juice, way up. I don't think the collar was meant for that, but it was either that or restrain me, I suppose. That's when I quit eating, just lay there with my fingers digging into the padding." She paused again for her water; this time, she reached for the glass with both hands. She finished it, set the glass down carefully, and resumed.

"After what seemed like half a lifetime, I fell asleep. Or maybe they knocked me out again. The dreams were too weird to describe. I woke up, and something seemed different, but I couldn't figure what. My brain was pretty scrambled by then.

"Then a deep voice said, 'Uh, miss?'"

Annie touched fingertips to her lips and smiled. "Sorry, hon. But I can just see him. He must have been blushing scarlet."

Kat quirked a little smile, too. "I realized it wasn't the first time he'd called me, and that's what woke me up. I sat up and looked around. I could see a door in my room for the first time, standing partway open. And a hand was sticking through it with my coveralls. 'Fairchild, C. Maybe you'd like to get dressed and come out?'" She shook her head. "He could see right through the walls, but he pretended he couldn't, to protect my modesty. I trusted him instantly. That was when I realized the weird feeling from the collar was gone. I left it on the floor of the cell, just a wad of crumpled metal the size of a golf ball, before I reached for my clothes."

She looked at each of them in turn. "I don't know how much else needs telling. He said he was Bobby's dad. I found out later he was also Jack Lynch, the head of Operations at IO. He'd just made enemies of the people he'd worked with for twenty years in order to get all of us out. It turned out every kid in the school was a prisoner just like me, and our prison was in the basement of our school. He'd killed some guards and trashed the whole complex along the way. He sent most of us to distant places with a wad of cash and some contacts, but Bobby's closest classmates he invited to stay with him. We've been hiding together ever since." She concluded simply, "That's it, I guess."

That seemed a long way from "it," but a look from his father stilled any faint notions he might have had about asking questions. Kat was staring at her hands, clasped in her lap. He also restrained an urge to lift them out of her lap and kiss them.

Annie stood up. "I know it's not midnight, but I think I need to get her home. Another time, Andy?"

"You know it, Annie. Anytime."

Kat took his hand at the door. "Thanks, Daniel. I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nodded. "I'll call before that, as soon as I score a reservation."

His dad said, "See her to the car, will you, son?"

He walked down the drive with her, still holding hands, leaving Annie and his father in the doorway. Just before they were out of earshot, he heard Annie say, "I'd like to kiss you goodnight, but I'm almost afraid to, after last time."

"It only hurts for a second," his father teased.

He risked a quick glance back, and saw his dad holding Annie loosely in his arms, her hands on his chest. He turned eyes front, and saw Kat watching them, too. She exchanged a look with him, then unlocked the doors with her key fob. He opened the driver's side, treating himself to another look at her as she folded herself into the car. He closed the door, and she rolled down the window and looked up at him. "What I said tonight. If it changes things for you, if you don't think it's a good idea to see each other again, I understand."

He looked down at her. "I'll call tomorrow afternoon. Maybe you should skip lunch, to sharpen your appetite."

She smiled as brightly as dawn over the desert.

Annie joined them. "I left the extra food in the fridge. The containers are disposable. See if you can get a couple more green beans down Drew." She paused as she drew near. Suddenly half her age dropped away, and he was looking at a girl young enough to play with dolls. Her eyes were huge, soft, and pleading. "Daniel. I know you must be burning up with questions. But I'd take it as a great personal favor if you didn't ask your father any about how we first met. That cat will be out of the bag too soon anyway."

He nodded. She kissed her fingertips, touched them to his lips. And got in the car. It pulled away, and he watched until it turned out of sight, and it never occurred to him to get the plate number.


	5. Object Lesson

Caitlin cranked down the windows and let the night air blow through the car. "That was a shameless performance."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, hon. Every word was true, and you were very sincere. And the raw feeling in your narrative made the whole story a lot more credible than a bunch of corroborating evidence that we didn't have anyway. As it was, there wasn't a dry eye in the house when you were done." She smiled. "Including mine."

"I was talking about _your_ performance. Why are you coming on to him like that?"

"Ah." Anna stared out the windshield. "The answer's complex. Speaking pragmatically, if we can get Daniel on our side, we'll have something that even Jack or Frank can't give us – an inside man on our own pickup team. The father is one key to the son, if things don't work out between you."

"Okay. But you didn't know about Dan until tonight. What _else_ is this guy to you?"

"A link to my past. Andy is the man who held me at gunpoint in the lab."

"I figured that out already. Why would you ever want to see him again? Is that why you took the daycare job, to get close to him? And… how _close_ are you getting?"

"In the order you asked: I have a lot of questions about my past. Andy might be able to fill in some of the blanks for me. Meeting him again was a coincidence. I took the daycare job because I wanted practice taking care of smaller children. When Andy's name appeared on Drew's list of approved guardians, my antennae went up. He was listed as a grandparent, so the age was about right. I checked his dossier in Operations, and it showed him as retired and living in Escondido. Prudence would have had me quit before we ran into each other; I had no reason to think he wouldn't take one look at me and run for the phone, if I let him. But something stopped me."

The little blonde leaned an elbow out the window, and turned to her. "When he showed up at the playground and looked at me, I could tell two things about him instantly: first, that the eight years since I'd seen him last hadn't been kind to him. That sort of leached away any lingering resentment I'd had about his treatment of me. Second, that he didn't recognize me. I should have been surprised by that; I felt like a different person, but I knew my appearance was unchanged. But this man, whose eyes had never left me, forty hours a week for fourteen months, didn't recognize me. He chatted with me for twenty minutes and even flirted with me a little. And I wasn't surprised at all.

"After a couple of days of sharing a bench with him and talking like old friends, I thought he was gentled enough to introduce myself properly. On the day Andy showed up to watch the kids play, I'd told Drew not to play catch with me until I said it was okay. When I was ready to let Andy see who he'd been chumming with, I told Drew it was okay to leap out of swings and such again. Andy saw us do it, and it triggered his memory, just as I'd intended. I was planning to cultivate a friendship with him, in order to get some inside information about those days in the lab. Finding out his son was being recruited into IO sweetened the deal. But things took a sudden turn when he found out about Westminster Mall. Thank God the security restrictions on the Chula Vista raid were tighter, or any chance of staying friends would have gone south. He confronted me over it. I was forced to tell him more than I'd intended about you kids and Jack, but it created openings for the topics _I _wanted to discuss. I offered to see him at home and feed him a meal. The rest you know.

"As for your last question: I do find him attractive, inasmuch as he reminds me of my husband. He's a special-teams alumnus like Jack and Frank, and they're all cut from the same cloth. I'm predisposed to feel friendly towards him. And his ego's in desperate need of a good stroking, after the way IO pushed him out the door. What better way to do that, I thought, than to show him that a pretty girl less than half his age finds him charming? Then, after he recognized me, I changed tack a bit, and he learned that he could awake almost irresistible passion in a machine intellect that he remembered as an almost emotionless robot. When I met him at daycare, he was feeling inadequate to raise a child. Tonight, he was confident, commanding, and assertive, a charter member of the Resistance, capable of anything." She turned back to the windshield. "He enjoys my attention, and he likes flirting, after so many years as a married man, and more as a lonely divorced man. But I think he enjoys my company too much to risk a real seduction attempt unless I initiate it."

"I asked you how you _felt_ about him, Anna."

"Oh." She shrugged. "He's a very good kisser, and I'm sure he'd be a considerate lover. But my heart doesn't beat in time to his when he holds me."

She found herself nodding. Then she caught herself. _How can I pretend to know what she's talking about? The only man who's held me with tenderness is my Uncle Nate._

"Hon, would you mind stopping somewhere before we go home? I have an appointment, sort of."

She looked at the dashboard clock. "It's almost eleven. Why didn't you mention it before?"

"I didn't know if we'd have time, and I didn't want to cut the time with Andy and Dan short. But this _is_ important."

"Who are you meeting?"

"A man, actually."

"_Anna._"

"Good grief, girlfriend, it's not a tryst. He doesn't even know I'm coming. I've just got his schedule down." She looked out the passenger window. "His name is Donald Gersch. He owns a bakery, a big one with a lot of commercial orders. Three shifts. He goes in at four AM, while the third shift is finishing up, and checks their work. That's the frantic shift, you see, when tons of bread and pastries go out on the trucks to the grocery stores and such. Then he comes and goes throughout the day shift, running out to his gym for a couple of hours, working the phones and doing business in his office, looking in on the day shift's work, and dropping by the little retail outlet in front. Sometimes he even waits on customers. In the early afternoon, he takes a long siesta on the big couch in his office, because he doesn't sleep much at home. Then he stays for most of the second shift, which does most of the baking. He locks his office door and leaves at precisely eleven o'clock; a man of regular habits is our Donald. He stops at one of three bars along the shortest route home, and spends maybe an hour nursing a single drink, chatting with the barkeep and the customers, cuz he's the kind of guy who knows everybody." Her voice turned soft and distant. "And then, he'll go home, and for an hour or two before he goes to bed, he'll make the lives of his wife and infant daughter a living hell."

Her voice changed again, to razor steel. "When I was changing Bethie's clothes to go home today, I noticed ten little bruises, five on each of her upper arms. His wife has come to daycare more than once wearing dark glasses or walking stiffly. But he's never marked Bethie till now. Trouble is, once they start…" She blinked. "Well. As I'm sure you've guessed, I've been preparing for this. I intend to have a little talk with Donald about his lifestyle choices."

*

Caitlin had expected Donald Gersch to be a large man. But he turned out to be of only medium height and weight, albeit in good condition for a guy who smelled like donuts. Not that any of that mattered; he could have been built like Hulk Hogan or Pee Wee Herman, and his fate would be the same.

He thrashed and kicked and pulled with both hands at the forearm that had appeared under his chin as he stepped away from his car and lifted him off his feet. The throttled sounds he was making never got past the hand she had over his mouth. She dragged him out of the tavern's lighted lot into the shadow of the trees at the edge of the blacktop. Halfway there, he lost a shoe. Anna, following behind, picked it up.

Once they were in cover, she continued to throttle the man from behind as Anna stood before them, watching with folded arms, Donald's loafer in her hand. He swayed and twisted, then went limp. She almost let him go before Anna said, "Liar." She jerked him up and he resumed kicking for a while more.

Finally, he stilled. Anna looked pointedly at his crotch. "I think we have his attention." She reached up and tapped hard on the man's forehead with the heel of his shoe. "How bout it, Donnie? Ready to get a little sense knocked in, huh?" She looked past his shoulder at her. "Give him three good breaths. If he so much as squeaks, snap his neck."

She loosened her grip enough to let his feet find the ground. He took a gasping breath, then another, which he held, trying to delay the return of the forearm to his throat.

"Two's all you want, then?" Anna looked at her. He managed a quick exhale and inhale before she clamped his throat and mouth again. This time, she let him keep his toes on the ground.

"You must have thought you were doing a pretty good job of staying under the radar," Anna said softly. "You're surrounded morning, noon, and night by people who think you're a conscientious boss, a solid businessman, a charming acquaintance who knows how to say no to a second drink. The only witnesses to your crimes are your victims, and I'll bet you conditioned your wife to suffering in silence before you ever laid a hand on her. Just like your daughter."

She moved closer. "Thing is, you might not be giving the police or Social Services any cause for suspicion, but they're not the only ones watching for this sort of thing. There are organizations, Donald," she said, her voice low and menacing. "They don't do public service announcements or fundraisers. They just find problems and fix them." She looked up. "What do you think we should do with this one, Katya?"

"You said it before," she said in an atrocious Russian accent. "Snap his neck. I have low opinions of men who hurt little girls."

Anna nodded. "Your wife and child would be better off, probably. I bet you're the kind of guy who carries a lot of insurance." She slapped the shoe gently into her other palm. "But we were told to let you live. Once. Still, that leaves a lot of leeway, doesn't it?"

"Say the word, Anya. One word, and this one will never hurt another woman. Unless he rolls over her toe with his wheelchair."

Anna shook her head. "There's no point in letting him live if we cripple him up too bad to make a living and force his wife to take care of him." She stepped closer. Almost touching him. Her eyes drilled into his, and he stopped struggling, just stood still. "Listen to me, Donnie. Like the saying goes, this is the first day of the rest of your life. And the rest of your life is going to be damn short if it isn't different from what went before." Her voice was a predator's warning growl. "From the moment we let you go until you die, you're going to be the kind of husband and father your wife and child deserve, the kind all the people you've got fooled think you are. You go home tonight and apologize to your wife. Tell her you've had an epiphany. Offer her a divorce, but beg her to stay and give you a chance. And from now on, you treat the two of them like your life depends on their goodwill, because it does."

She grabbed his crotch. Caitlin could feel his skin turn cold and clammy as she squeezed his privates. "I'm sure you know better than to go to the police. Don't get any ideas about running or hunkering down. You're our poster boy now, and we'll keep a close eye on you. Don't take your child out of daycare, or make your wife quit her job. Don't even _think_ of moving in the dead of night. We know all the tricks, Donnie, and we've got no patience for them. Just keep on living your life, only, from now on, you're going to make your family happy, not afraid."

She released his crotch, and wiped her hand on his shirt. "Just one more thing before we send you on your way. We've learned that our… subjects remember their lessons better if they're provided a period of reinforcement." She put a hand on each of his upper arms and squeezed, slowly. He began thrashing again, screaming like a baboon into Caitlin's hand, his face suddenly greasy and hot. Over the muffled noise, Anna said, "Ever have a bruise that goes all the way to the bone, Donnie? They're crippling, and usually the result of a sudden blow, over before you feel the pain. Very few people ever get to feel the tissues being crushed as the traumatizing instrument sinks into the flesh. You're one in a million. Oh, don't pass out, now. We're almost done." She let go, and Caitlin felt the back of her hand wet with the man's tears, and his gasping sobs against her palm. "There. Ten little reminders, just like Bethie's, only more so. They'll take weeks to heal, and while they do, you won't be able to raise a hand to your wife or daughter without feeling more pain than you can still inflict."

Anna nodded to her, and she let him go. He fell to his knees, then to his side, knees drawn up and arms tight to his sides, staring at nothing as he gasped.

"The pain will peak in about ten minutes. In half an hour, it'll recede as much as it's going to tonight. You'll have about fifteen minutes after that to pull yourself together, Donnie. Then you'd better drive home. If you're late, your wife may worry. You don't want that."

Caitlin was able to drive for three blocks before she pulled into a parking lot, opened the door, and retched. Anna pulled her hair back just before she lost her primavera. The hands on her neck and forehead were soft and cool and gentle. It seemed impossible that they were the same instruments that had done what had turned her stomach inside-out. "Do you, do you think he'll stop?"

"That depends on whether it's a favorite hobby or an addiction. Some people really can't help themselves."

"And if he hurts them again?"

"Then I'll visit him again. But I won't take you with me."


End file.
